Misconception
by Hargasm23
Summary: Olivia f**ks up. Elliot doesn't let her forget it. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

I'm not really sure what this is but it's been in my head for years and now it's coming out. Set mid season 12. **Warning: Sexual content, course language and mild violence. **Thanks for reading.

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"Take it off," he rasped into her ear as his fingers jerked at the strap of her cocktail dress. Her mouth was on his then, her tongue dragging across his lower lip as she rose up to adhere to his demand. She arched her back locating the zip and her breasts pushed up into his chest. Before she had the chance, he grabbed the dress strap and yanked it downward exposing her bra. His palm grasped the satin squeezing, groping as his breath ran ragged against her neck.

"All the way," he tells her but he's not even giving her the chance as his hand pulls the other strap mercilessly down her waist and over her hips. As the dress settles somewhere around her knees she reaches for his shirt attempting to unbutton it but he grasps her wrists. As he holds them against the mattress he plunges his tongue into her mouth, using a knee to push her dress further down her legs and clean off the bed.

Her legs are free now but her wrists are held in place as his lips drag relentlessly over the column of her neck. He's rough, cocky, and presumptuous as all hell but tonight she needs it. After the day she had today she fucking needs to be taken.

"_Damn it Olivia, you have no idea," Elliot's loud voice cut her off in the middle of the squad room. "So don't even pretend to understand."_

She's trying to block out their argument when she feels his lower half sink into hers, his erection hitting her square between the legs. She groans low and guttural and tries unsuccessfully to deter her mind from her partner.

"_Right so because of my marital status I'm not entitled to an option?" she had stabbed back defensively._

"You got cuffs?" the man above her breathes into her ear and her eyes snap open. She's slightly taken aback but something stirs inside of her, intrigue or perhaps just the desire to just let herself go. He still has her pinned to the bed and her mind begins to analyze the potential risks associated with his request but it's competing with the five or so cocktails she'd consumed tonight. He sucks on the crux of her neck and rocks his erection firmly between her legs and a moan escapes her. Then it's Elliot's rebuttal that hits her full force.

"_In these cases, your viewpoint will always be partial Olivia." _

She had wanted to scream, curse at him and fire back that she doesn't need to be a half assed wife to understand the concept of unholy matrimony. Instead, she simply narrowed her eyes and filed his insult next to the numerous other times she'd held her tongue. He had practically smirked at her, almost daring her to bite but Cragen had changed the subject before she could change her mind.

She's still thinking about the handcuffs, pondering, she knows it's not a good idea but damn it, she's just so fucking over it. She just wants to let go for once in her godforsaken life and not to have to analyze every possible threat or risk. She needs something to distract her from Elliot and the constant entourage of B.S. that's attached.

"You said you were a cop, right?" He questions her but all she can feel is his cock prodding at her insistently through his trouser pants and she needs to remove the barrier. She's still on that fence between right and wrong and she's trying to work out if she's still drunk or just tipsy now.

His hands ease up on her wrists and they're trailing across her body now, one down the side of her rib cage, the other sliding over her jaw as he drags her lower lip between hers and sucks. She doesn't know if it's her anger from the day that pushes her over the edge or the fact that those cocktails contained four types of rum, but she's rocking her lower half against him when she says it.

"Top draw," she breathes into his mouth and she feels his lips curl into a smile as he digs his teeth softly into her lower lip. He rises up immediately, his hips knocking into her as he reaches for her bedside table draw and pulls out the metal bracelets. He goes for one of her wrists but she surprises him by shoving him onto his back and moving a leg either side of him, straddling his hips.

She reaches down snatching at the cuffs but he is too fast, holding them out of her grasp. A few moments pass and she stares down at the piercing blue eyes, telling herself that's not why she chose him tonight. When she realizes the cuffs are unattainable she changes course and begins to rock her lower half against him in soft, languid motions.

She watches as his eyes draw to a gentle close and his free hand moves to her hip pulling her down to grind himself against her. She uses his closed eyes to her advantage and swoops down quickly, snatching the cuffs and smiling to herself as she attempts to lock a bracelet over his wrist.

He rises up quickly, his hips knocking into her and suddenly she's crashing onto her back. She feels the shift in his demeanor immediately. He's rough now and far less patient and her throat catches when she realizes this doesn't feel like a game anymore. He snatches her hand and her breathing falters because he's squeezing it now as the cool metal closes around her wrist. The alarm bells sound and she uses her legs to kick but she hits thin air before she tries again and connects with his thigh. He groans in pain and she tries to struggle out from underneath his weight. She twists frantically and is practically sliding off the edge of the bed but he grabs her around the waist, yanking her back into his chest. Her voice isn't working but her free hand slams against the bedside table, grasping at the draw that contains her service weapon.

"Relax," he whispers into the back of her neck and it sends shivers down her spine as his hand at her waist tightens into an iron vice. The other is grabbing at her wrist with the bracelet and when he manages to secure it, her eyes sting from the onset of tears. This can't be happening she is telling herself, this is all just in her head. She wills herself not to cry because tears will only weaken her fight and there is still time. He's reaching for her free hand now and she's thrashing against him, her breaths coming out in short, audible yells. When his fingers curl around her free wrist she lets out a scream and the shrillness of her own voice rings in her ears.

He yanks her hands roughly above her head and she twists beneath him, the fight in her is undeniable but it's that one definitive moment when the metal closes around her other wrist that makes her heart practically stop. She hears it click into place and his palm comes up and muffles her scream. She tries to jerk at her hands but it's futile because they're captured in between the wooden rung of her headboard.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he tells her quickly, as if she was insane to think otherwise and she tries to catch her breath under the force of his palm. She blinks up at him worriedly but there's something about his eyes and his tone that makes her think that maybe he won't. Her instincts as a cop are far too sharp to leave her blind. Even after the rum, this guy in no way, shape or form fits the profile of a predator. It's just that 1% of uncertainty that leaves her body trembling and heart in her throat.

"I'm going to take my hand off your mouth," he tells her slowly. "If you scream, yell, or so much as raise your voice," he informs her. "Then I have no problem getting your gun out." Her heart thumping incessantly now and her chest is rising rapidly at the thought that he knows where her gun is. "I don't want to use it Olivia," he tells her slowly and the use of her name makes her eyes water. She'd mentioned at some point, somewhere around the third cocktail but had assumed he'd all but forgotten. She wasn't even sure what his name was. M something. Michael, Matthew, Mitchell? Mitchell she thinks. Fuck.

Slowly he releases his hand and watches anxiously to see if she will scream again but she remains quiet. She waits, apprehensively and she can feel her breasts rising steadily with every sharp intake. Her mouth opens slightly intent on asking him what he wants but she closes it when she realizes she's not ready for the answer.

"Your desk out there," he says slowly and he's moving off the bed now, over her body until he's planted his feet on the floor beside her. "Is that where you keep your paperwork?" His voice sounds strangely casual now and she doesn't understand why he is asking her about paperwork. Her eyebrows draw together in confusion and her voice isn't cooperating so she waits for him to continue. "Lindbrook," he informs her slowly. "The case information, where is it?"

Her mouth opens then as she attempts to sit up but the cuffs hinder any chance of an upright movement. Her mind is spinning and she's trying to process what he's asking her and channel her thoughts into reasons why but the alcohol is still clouding.

"Who are you?" she says slowly and she wonders then if she's dreaming because it seems like it's the only logical explanation at this point. When it's clear she's not going to answer him, he simply walks out of her bedroom intent on finding his own answers.

_Fuck._

The moment he is out of sight it's like a switch is flicked and she is tugging relentlessly at cuffs, twisting her body until her feet are planted on the ground. Her gun and cell are in the draw of her bedside table so she's using her knee in an attempt to open it.

She can hear him out in her living room, near the alcove and she can hear the sounds of her desk drawers opening and papers being shuffled. She gets the drawer open a smidge, but soon realizes it's redundant because unless she can secure her weapon or phone with her feet, she's pretty much screwed.

She kneels on the bed and instead turns her attention to the headboard, she grasps hold of the wooden pole and pulls forcibly, relentlessly, knowing full well her strength is no match but she has to try something. She can't just lie there and wait for him to return. Her ass is practically in the air when she hears him return and she's still tugging, the whole bed shaking under her force.

"Hey - HEY," he yells in panic as if he is concerned she might concur some superhuman strength and break free but she doesn't stop. He moves over to the side of the bed and he grabs her hands, pulling them off. He nudges her firmly at her waist until she hits the bed and falls onto her back again. His eyes lock onto hers before they dip unconsciously to her breasts and down her stomach and it's a painful reminder that she's still in her underwear. He's visibly distracted as he eyes the white stain and she holds her breath feeling incredibly exposed.

"Christ," he mutters under his breath before running a hand over his face. "I should get a fucking metal for my restraint," he mumbled against his hand. Her heart is thumping as he ogles her body but she tries to look at this as a positive. _Restraint,_ meaning he's intending to keep his hands off her now because that's not what he came here for. The other part of her is still wading through the uncertainty of who he was and what the hell was going on.

She watches something tick over in his mind and his eyes are no longer on her body, they're staring directly into hers, narrowing almost. "I know it's here," he tells her without question and she doesn't flinch. "It's not at the precinct, so where is it?"

The words sink in and her breathing starts to heighten and it's clear now that he knows far too much about their sensitive case. She's not going to tell him, she knows it's sitting on her coffee table under a newspaper and a stack of magazines but she's not saying shit. She realizes she's in no position to ask the questions, but she wants answers first.

"Who are you?" her voice croaks and she tries to block out that impending sense of failure that her instincts had let her down tonight. He'd seemed like a normal, charismatic guy that she could lose herself with and now it all appeared to be part of his ruse.

She had initiated conversation with him tonight, not vise versa. He'd sat two seats away from her when she'd noticed his charm. He'd lingered, he'd smiled from a far, he'd waited all night for her to make contact and like a moth to a flame, she had foolishly taken the bait. She felt pitiful and what's more, he'd been to the precinct, he'd gone through their files and she had no inkling whatsoever.

"Please tell me what's going on?" she whispered deflated, whatever it was Cragen was going to have her ass when it came time to explain this.

"The file detective," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to ask you again."

Her stomach dropped, he knew her, there was familiarity in the way he was speaking to her and it threw her through a loop. Her mind began to race; past victims, past suspects, past cases, past witnesses, trying desperately to link him to someone or something but it all came up blank.

What the hell was his connection to the Lindbrook case?

"Who do you work for?" she tried and he was shaking his head as his attention moved to the top drawer she'd left slightly ajar. She watched as he reached in for the gun, released the safety, loaded it and pointed it directly at her forehead. It had all seemed instinctual, methodical. This guy had to be a cop or a fed because the familiarity with her weapon was far too meticulous.

"I don't have time for this," he practically seethed and it was clear now that his patience with her earlier had all since dissipated. He moved forward until the cold metal of the barrel pressed directly against her forehead and her breath hitched. "Now tell me where the god damn file is Olivia."

She swallowed, her eyes closing at the sight of the gun against her head and as the pin pricks of tears surfaced, she realized it never got any easier. She tried not to let her lip tremble when she spoke. "Coffee table," she whispered and in the few brief moments when he didn't move her heart clenched tightly in her chest.

A few debilitating moments of silence passed before she felt the pressure of the weapon ease up on her forehead and relief washed over. When she opened her eyes again, she caught sight of his back disappearing from her bedroom once more.

_Fuck! _ She tried to block out the shit she'd be in for letting him waltz out of here with confidential details on the Lindbrook case. She couldn't even comprehend the impending conversation she'd have to have with Cragen. How was she supposed to explain letting a stranger into her house and willingly handcuff her to her bed? She needed to stop him, to stop this. Cragen had spent the better part of this week drilling in the fact that under no circumstances were they to discuss this case with anyone. Now here she was, flat on her back giving it up in an instant.

He was back in her bedroom already and despite realizing he'd have no trouble finding it, her heart still sank when she saw it in his hands. He was flicking through the contents briefly before he shoved it into his bag. She knew she'd only have seconds now.

"Please," she said softly going for a gentler, less intimidating approach. "Please tell me what's going on?" He looked over at her, dragging his lower lip into his mouth before releasing it.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with," he told her quietly and she hated that his voice still sounded so serine and soothing. She prayed she hadn't been the only one to fall for this guys crap.

He stepped a little closer and she held her breath as he made his way around to the side of her bed once more. She watched as his eyes moved from hers to the top draw and he was opening it, pulling out her cell phone. She watched as he walked it over to her dresser and placed it down. He then pulled her service weapon from the back of his pants and left it next to her phone. When the realization sunk in that he intended on leaving her tied to the bed she closed her eyes in distress.

"Please, you can't leave me like this," she practically whispered, her eyes still shut tightly when she spoke. When she was only met with silence, they slipped open and he was looking at her contemplatively before he scratched the stubble on his jaw.

"Special orders," he informed her and her mind spun.

_Special orders._

What the hell? Someone had requested he leave her here practically naked, handcuffed to her bed? She wanted to explode, to curse, to give this guy a piece of her mind but she knew she'd have to reign in her temper if she had any hope of reasoning with him.

"Please," she said almost breathy. "No one has to know, my keys are in the living room, just throw them to me and I'll wait till you leave."

He laughed then, scoffed almost at her suggestion and shook his head as if to imply he wasn't born yesterday. She knew there was an edge of compassion within him, she'd seen it when he was opening up to her at the bar, she just had to locate it.

"I live alone," she reminded him quickly, knowing she didn't have long. "No one will find me for days."

He ran a hand through his hair, the hair that only moments earlier she'd been sliding her fingers through and he appeared to be debating something in his mind. He laughed then, a short, half laugh that didn't reach his eyes.

"I'll make sure your partner gets the call," he told her and her stomach dropped two floors.

_No._ Not Elliot. Please, anyone but Elliot. She couldn't have him find her like this. Not after their argument today, not ever. Jesus Christ, she'd never hear the end of it. The blame, the accusation, the lectures that she should know better about safety and danger. She couldn't deal with it tonight, not when she already had the consequences of this screw up to deal with. She'd do anything.

As he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, she stopped him hurriedly.

"Wait," she pleaded. "Not Elliot, please just call my captain." The desperation in her voice had been thick as she'd tried to bargain with him. Cragen would have to know about this eventually and at least she'd have a slim chance of keeping this under wraps from Elliot.

She clung onto the tiny fragment of hope that he'd comply and for a brief moment it appeared he was considering her request. It was when his lips turned upward into the makings of a small smile that she knew her fate was sealed.

"No, I think Stabler's going to enjoy this," his eyes flickered at the mere thought. "Tell him I said hi."

He flashed his pearly whites at her one last time and then he was gone.

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**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

_Holy coolness I'm glad you're all liking my Sin vacation – thanks so much for all the words! This is just a little escape from the bigger picture and despite the AC content it's actually a lot lighter than my other fics, to the point where I'll even admit it boarders a little on the OOC side. Also somewhere along the way it seems to have taken a slight comedic detour hmmm but don't worry you can trust me – the hotness will prevail._

His eyes were closed.

He was lying on his back with his hands clasped before him trying desperately to summon sleep. He was concentrating on the gentle rise and fall of his breathing in the hope that it may ease him into a deep slumber. He had had tried his stomach, his side, his back, and now he was debating if he'd try his stomach again.

_Damn it._

He'd have to be up soon. Another day would begin and he would have to ply himself full of caffeine just to get through it. This hadn't been the first restless night he'd endured recently, it had been all week really. He didn't know exactly what to attribute the sleep deprivation to but it had to stop.

The bed was different, that didn't help. It was too firm, to the point where he might as well be sleeping on a plank of wood. Three months in a new bed and it still felt as firm as the day he'd bought it. He wondered how many months, or years would have to pass until it softened up.

It wasn't the cases that were keeping him up, over the years he'd learned to successfully block them out long enough to fall into a shallow sleep. Of course there were those rare occasions where a case would hit too close to home and he'd have no hope of shutting it off, but tonight that wasn't it.

It wasn't his family that was keeping him up, despite the overwhelming feeling that it should be. He'd moved out three months ago and each time he had called or visited the house they all seemed to be getting on fine without him, even Kathy.

Particularly Kathy.

It should bother him more.

He knew exactly what was keeping him up, only he'd barely admit it to himself let alone anyone else. He'd gone at her today, cut her down mid conversation and effectively told her that her opinion wasn't warranted. As soon as he had said the words, he knew he'd crossed a line.

_Your viewpoint will always be partial Olivia._

_Fuck_. Why did he have to say _always_ as if he were implying that she would never get married? Then instead of correcting himself or backtracking he simply stared her down as if it were some sort of challenge.

He'd seen the fire in her eyes as she glared back at him and the worst part was, he'd enjoyed it. It was her undivided anger directed solely at him and although it was negative, it was emotion; feeling radiating from those chocolate brown eyes that had practically turned black.

He was a sick son of a bitch.

He owed her an apology, but then again the amount he'd owed her over the years had accumulated to a point where he'd stop counting. He would make up for it in other ways he figured, without the words. A takeaway coffee, or the offer to drive her home this week. That's about as far as his stubbornness would stretch without openly having to admit fault.

He rolled over onto his stomach as if he could trick his body into thinking he hadn't tried this position yet. As he lay there concentrating on slowing his breathing he tried to deter his thoughts away from his partner. If he could just get her out of his head for five minutes maybe he'd have a chance at this.

As his heart began to slow and his breathing tapered he could feel his body slowly succumbing to it's dire need of sleep. It was moments later that his phone lit up beside his bed and all thoughts of sleep had been officially obliterated to hell.

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_Fuck a fucking-fuck._

What the hell was she going to do? Michael or Mitchell or whoever the hell he was had left over 30 minutes ago and she was still lying there racking her brain for a plan of attack.

She tried to think logistics. Elliot would be coming from Queens, which was over 40 minutes away on a good run, but at this hour there would be little to no traffic. Meaning chances are he would be here any minute. _Damn it. _That is if this guy called him straight away, maybe he wanted to drag it out just to make her suffer. Who would know.

She'd considered heaving the bed across the room to the dresser but the position he had her cuffed meant she would barely be able to reach the phone with her feet. Besides, even if she got to the phone what then? Who is she going to call? Elliot? And tell him everything is fine, that there is no need to come over.

He'd still come over.

She thought about breaking the wooden rung in her headboard. It was wood, not metal but she'd still need to give it a hefty beating and even then it wasn't guaranteed. Elliot would still get the phone call regardless and he'd be more likely to find her in a sweaty exhausted heap than broken free. So she had cut her losses, decided she'd just lie here - impatiently and wait for the shit storm to hit.

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_Your partner is in deep shit Stabler. You better grab a shovel._

He'd read the text about 9 times before it actually registered. Even then he had no idea what the hell it meant. He was panicking that's for sure, his heart rate was plummeting as his mind automatically flashed to the worse case scenario. Instead of replying to the text or calling the number, he exited the text message and searched frantically for her name.

_Benson._

It rang, once – twice – three times and he was begging her in his mind. _Please just pick up so I know you're fine. Tell me this is just some loon that's stolen my business card and is fucking with me. _It was about the eleventh ring when it flicked onto her voicemail and he hung up.

_Fuck._

At least her phone was on he figured, it wasn't dead, or turned off while she road bound in the back of some nut jobs trunk. It was on, it was ringing but he knew that was just as alarming because despite the late hour - Olivia always picked up.

He flung off his sheets and flicked on the light. He slid a grey t-shirt over his head and rustled around for a pair of jeans that lay crumpled in a heap. As he shoved his feet into the first pair of shoes he could find he frantically dialed the number from the text.

As predicted, it rang repetitively and once it reached the 15th mark he knew hitting a voicemail account would be too good to be true. He silenced the call, shoved his phone into his pocket, and grabbed his leather jacket.

His hands were shaking as he scooped up his keys and his weapon and he was out the door within moments.

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The phone had rung once.

It had vibrated fiercely against the wood of her dresser and she had jolted at the sound. It had scared the hell out of her to the point where her heart rate refused to taper back down now. She knew the fear was the result of knowing it was Elliot and due to her lack of response, he would now be on his way.

Five or so minutes later she'd heard it ring again - and again - and again - until the phone vibrated so far it fell off her dresser and onto the carpet. Now she could just hear a low mechanical hum beneath her bed that wasn't easing her anxiety any less.

She closed her eyes. He was going to be here any minute. She needed to think, get her story straight before she was faced with an onslaught of questions.

Less is more she figured, she didn't have to deluge every single detail that resulted in her getting here. She could give him the abridged version, focus on what actually mattered, the crux of it; that their case was _fucked_. She didn't need to tell him how she knew Mike-Matt-Mitch. She didn't need to explain that she'd only just met him tonight and willingly let him cuff her to the bed. Maybe he was an intruder, someone who followed her home – or maybe –

_If you can't trust your partner it's time to get a new one._

_Fuck. _Of course she couldn't lie so blatantly, she knew it would only come back and bite her in the ass. She was pulling at straws, scraping the bottom of the barrel and it was absurd. She would just have to be honest and upfront with Elliot – something that seemed far more daunting than staring down the barrel of that gun.

What she needed to be focusing on was calling Cragen, she had to inform him that their case was now compromised and troubleshooting was imperative. She wondered if it could wait until the morning – what could they really do in these early hours of the morning that couldn't wait? She was going to loose her job for this, wasn't she? Maybe if she worded it the right way she'd have a chance at salvaging something, 6 months on desk duty maybe - a year. Anything.

What killed her was she didn't do this, she didn't let strange men into her house and willingly tie her to her bed. It was one night, a temporary loss of her senses and incredibly poor judgment. What the hell had she been thinking? She was pissed at Elliot, it was irrational but she couldn't help but think he'd started this. He'd lit the fuse on her mood today and it resulted in her throwing back a multitude of rum cocktails and searching for a release.

She closed her eyes, what the hell was she saying? Blaming him was a complete cop out. Maybe if she'd just retaliated at the precinct she could have moved on instead of bottling it up to the point of explosion. She had no one to blame for this but herself and as each second ticked over the humiliation and disappointment in herself continued to amplify.

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He had just run a third red light.

He thought about calling Cragen but he didn't want the distraction or even the prospect of having to slow down right now.

He just needed to get to her apartment, ascertain that she was fine, warn her and then he could leave. She's probably just asleep he figured, in a slumber so deep she hadn't heard the phone calls.

All 13 of them.

He'll knock on her door, she'll answer all pissy and irate, he'll show her the text and she'll mumble how ridiculous it is. She'll accuse him of being over protective and gullible and slam the door in his face. He'll go home, back to his bed so firm he's practically planking and not sleep a wink before sunrise.

_Yes. _If he had his way that's exactly how he would like to see this panning out because considering any other possibility right now was too much to bare. Maybe he'll even get to memory bank a semi conscious Olivia visual to store away for later. Messy bed hair, a sleepy scowl, pajamas pants – or better yet pajama shorts and if he's lucky… a fitted tank.

_Fuck_, this was no time to drop his mind into the gutter, for all he knew she was in some serious trouble and here he was imagining her sleep attire. He knew what he was doing, he was keeping it light because right now it was his only hope at not running off the road.

He ran the fourth red light before he turned into her street.

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A noise rattled her from her daze and her body stilled.

Was that him? Had she heard someone at her door? She could have sworn she'd heard something. Moments ticked by as she lay there silently, waiting for a second noise to back up the first.

_Nothing._

She let out the breath she was holding. Where was he? It was bordering on an hour now; an hour trapped here with her frazzled thoughts and pounding heart rate. If she had actually been in immediate danger she'd hate to think how this could have ended. The phone calls had stopped 15 minutes ago so she knew he couldn't be far off. She just wanted this to be over, she wanted to rip off the band-aid so she could move on and start fixing this.

She adjusted herself against the cuffs trying to establish a slightly more comfortable position. As she shifted the chill of the night air kissed her exposed skin. Shivers spread across her body, goose bumps erupting over her flesh and she felt her nipples harden against the sheer satin of her bra.

_Fuck._

Her bodies reaction had been triggered by the declining temperature but she couldn't ignore the slickness between her legs. How could she still be turned on at a moment like this? Perhaps it was the comfort that wasn't in immediate danger or maybe it was the fact that in moments her partners eyes would be roaming her body, his hands reaching for her.

She squeezed her legs together.

_No_, no she was still turned on because she was left frustrated and unsatisfied from her earlier encounter. The guy had been a prick but she'd like to think she was a sharp enough judge of character to know it hadn't been malicious. It had to be his job, his obligation, his corrupt line of duty that forced him to do what he did. Maybe it was just pure denial and defiance but she refused to believe that she'd let a complete scumbag take her so willingly. Her mind flicked instantly to Porter then and she sighed deflated. Porter; another scumbag who took more than she should have ever offered him. She sure knew how to pick them - this guy was probably a fed too.

She considered turning over, if she rolled onto her stomach her arms would be twisted but at least breasts would be hidden from view. Then again the underwear she was wearing rode high up her cheeks which would leave her partner with a very provocative view. She would just stay where she is. Elliot had seen her scantily clad before; getting changed quickly for a bust, the undercover op with Bushido. This wasn't any different...

She bit into her lip, who was she kidding? This was completely different! Her position, the c_omplete_ absence of clothes, her dark nipples poking against the white satin refusing to settle down. Her body was practically on fire and if she had any hope of maintaining some dignity she needed to calm the hell down.

As she started to run her feet across the material of the comforter, she wished she had the forethought to pull it down. At least then she could have used her legs to drag as much cover up as possible. The dress that was piled on the floor at the end of her bed was also too far away to salvage. So instead, she had no choice but to lie here with her breasts at full attention and an unrelenting burning between her legs.

She let out the breath she was holding and as she arched her chest intent on alleviating the stiffness in her back she froze mid position when she heard it.

A sharp knock on her front door.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the cocktease that is this story. Thanks for the words.

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He knocked on her door. Once.

When it was followed by an eerie silence his heart was in his throat.

He knocked again, pounded is more like it and when the door stopped rattling under the brunt of his fist he called out.

"Olivia." Not a question, not a demand but a plea.

_Please be inside._

The silence encased him as his eyes traced the letters.

_4D._

He wasn't waiting any longer. He still had his keys bunched in his hand from when he'd haphazardly parked the car, almost positive that he'd have to use them. He inserted the key that had only ever existed for emergencies and he slowly opened the door.

He drew his weapon and nudged the door open slowly, the creek echoing through her living room. The first thing he saw was paper. Everywhere. Scattered from the surface of her desk and peppered on the ground beneath.

His heart began to pound incessantly in his chest as he tried to steady his weapon. The draws to her desk were all open and the chair was cast to its side. No lights were on in the living room but he could see the hue of light illuminating from her bedroom door that remained ajar.

_Please be ok._

As his eyes consumed her ransacked apartment the onslaught of imagery it triggered was blinding. Flashbacks of past cases; the bodies, the blood, the death, the assaults.

_Please, not Liv._

He should call out, voice her name in questioning, announce his presence – just incase he had this all wrong. Maybe she was just spring-cleaning. _Fuck_, get it together, the wishful thinking was feeble, his partner was in serious trouble.

He thought about their argument, the harsh words he'd said to her today.

_Your viewpoint will always be partial Olivia._

His teeth sunk defiantly into his lower lip and he willed himself not to go there, but the possibility was all too real. In moments he would find out if those words were the last thing she'd heard him say.

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Her body was practically trembling.

She had heard the knock, the pounding, the door creaking and his footsteps. She heard the hesitation, could sense his recognition that something was horribly wrong and she could only imagine what was going through his mind right now.

The guilt was intoxicating.

She should have called out, told him she was fine but her heart was thumping so loudly in her ears she couldn't comprehend words. She tried to process the realization that he would have spent the last hour going out of his mind. The phone calls, the drive over here, finding her like this – if the roles were reversed she would be beside herself.

He was moments from entering her bedroom and she knew that things were about to change between them. It may not be spoken; or noticeably obvious but his perception of her would forever alter.

She heard the door to her bedroom slowly creek open and her eyes slipped shut. She knew it was a cowardly move but she refused to let the image of him finding her into her head.

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

He felt like he was about to fall.

He was sure his legs were going to give out any minute now because he couldn't process the picture before him.

She lay still, handcuffed to her headboard, in her underwear, with her eyes closed and he thinks a part of him actually died at the sight. The lump in his throat that formed when he'd received the text message was now suffocating him.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, his weapon lowered slightly but the piece of metal was still shaking in his grasp. He needed to put it down because in moments it was going to slip through his clammy palm and crash onto the floor.

'_Jesus.'_

He couldn't figure out if he'd said that out loud or if he'd just thought it because his heart was thumping so wildly everything else took a back seat. His eyes went straight to her face, to her closed eyes. All he wanted in this world was to see chocolate pools.

He should be moving now, calling out to her, checking for a pulse, shaking her, but nothing inside him worked right now. Just his eyes; searching, pleading for signs of life.

He saw it then, a brief moment where her lips pressed together and her eyes squinted tightly closed. Her mouth opened then and a sob she'd been suppressing came out with her words.

"El, I'm ok," she choked out, still not opening her eyes. His gun slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the floor. He moved quickly, over to her side and he ached to touch her. He needed to feel the signs of life under his palm because he wasn't sure he believed it yet.

Her eyes flittered open and she looked up at him as he hovered by her bedside. He saw the panic, the anxiety and the despair; all of it contradicting her earlier statement.

_She wasn't ok._

His eyes were watering slightly and he wasn't sure if it was out of relief that she was alive or grief that something had happened to her.

"Liv," his voice managed to whisper and the alarm and sorrow had both been equally prominent in his tone.

She tore her eyes away from his and pressed her lips together trying unsuccessfully to mask the thoughts that were haunting her.

"I'm ok," she reiterated, taking a breath and her voice had sounded much calmer as if she'd successfully gathered her composure while he was still faltering. "Please just get me out of these," she said breathless, tugging at the cuffs and he noticed he'd lost her eye contact.

His attention darted to the cuffs, her hands, bound between a wedge of wood and he knew he needed to help her but his feet and hands felt like lead. He needed to know first, he needed confirmation and assurance before he could move an inch.

"What…" he began and his throat croaked against the emotion, he cleared it before continuing. "What happened?"

She was staring at the ceiling and he could see the frustration building within her. She twisted uneasily and her jaw clenched before she spoke.

"El, please, the keys," she said through gritted teeth.

It was then that he noticed the rose colored flush in her cheeks that was seeping down the ridge of her neck. She was nervous or embarrassed, or a combination of both.

His mind ticked over, of course she was embarrassed. She was lying on her bed in her underwear and he was standing there like he'd seen a ghost. He knew he should be moving, focusing, doing anything other than just standing there and staring at her.

"Elliot," she snapped impatiently, rolling her head to face him and the eye contact visibly shook him.

"Where are they?" he asked, almost whispering.

She turned her attention back to the ceiling and he tried to determine if she was holding back tears or something else.

"In the living room," she said quietly.

It must have only been seconds but it felt like a lifetime before his feet made movements and he was heading towards her door. A part of him didn't feel right leaving her, it was irrational and absurd but he was worried she might not be there when he returned.

"Kitchen counter," she called out softly and he paused for a fraction of a second before he walked out the door.

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

The moment he left her bedroom she let out the breath she was holding.

Her heart was still racing but her body had managed to settle itself down for the time being. There was still a chill in the air but the heat flushing her cheeks and across her chest was all the warmth she needed.

In fact it was bordering on hot now, stuffy, because she hadn't been able to breathe under his gaze let alone his presence. The moment he'd arrived the goose-bumps had dissipated and now she just felt clammy, nauseous almost.

She couldn't get the image of his eyes out of her mind. He had been watching her with a complete look of fear and anguish and she'd tried to tell him she was ok –_twice_. She knew he wasn't buying it and in order for him to believe her, the truth would have to come out. The whole truth.

It was the idea of having to tell him everything that had made her choke on her words because she knew he'd never look at her the same again. It didn't matter, she rationalized, because she owed it to him. God only knows what worst-case scenario his mind was processing right now and it was only fair she came clean. She just needed to get out of these cuffs, cover her body in a multitude of clothes and do her best to remove those horrific assumptions from his mind.

Her heart continued to pound as she waited for him to return, any minute now he would be back with her keys and she would be set free. She thought about his eyes then and how much of her body he'd actually seen. She noticed he had kept them trained solely on her face the entire time. Not once had he let them falter or slip downward and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She had to give him credit because her breasts were hard to miss right now. Not only was her cleavage amplified from this position but the bra she sported was a little too snug. The yellow of her cocktail dress had called for pale underwear and it was all she could find in her haste.

The truth that she didn't want to face was that she wanted his eyes on her, all over her. Taking in each portion of flesh she was revealing because damn it – she wanted him to be unable to help himself.

She remembered the night she'd followed him into the locker room during a discussion about a case and he'd slipped his shirt over his head. He was intent on hitting the showers and it had caught her completely off guard. She managed to keep her voice from faltering but her eyes raked down the hard plains of his chest before she had a chance to stop herself. It had been subconscious and only for a second but he had caught her. His hand had scratched a spot on his chest as he watched her eyes flick quickly back up to his. Yet here, in her confines of her bedroom, she was practically naked and he'd managed to act like a complete gentleman.

"Liv," his voice brought her back to reality and she could hear him at the threshold of her bedroom. "They're not out here." His voice carried an edge of concern.

Any sense of control that she thought she had over her nerves were now shot to hell. He couldn't find the keys. _Fuck. _She was sure she'd set them down on the counter _hadn't she_? She attempted to sit up but the cuffs restricted the movement so she reluctantly remained horizontal.

"They're on the kitchen counter," she reiterated with certainty. She had dropped them down the moment they'd entered her apartment. She remembered because then she had offered him a drink.

She could hear him moving now, coming towards the side of her bed and her heart rate plummeted at his increasing proximity. She tugged subconsciously at the cuffs.

"They're not on the counter, your desk, or the coffee table," he explained quietly. "Where did you last see them?"

She closed her eyes. The counter. The counter. _The fucking counter. _Maybe she was wrong, maybe the haze of rum had made her forget putting them elsewhere or moving them at some point. Then again, it was more likely this Mitchell prick had hid them, or taken them just to fuck with her.

When she opened her eyes he was looking at a spot on the wall behind her and she could sense the concern. She couldn't tell him – not yet, not while she was lying there in such a vulnerable state. She couldn't explain that it was likely this random guy had moved them on purpose. There had to be another way.

"Where are _your_ keys?" she said quickly, the thought only just occurring to her.

"They're not on this set," he told her deflated, still not looking at her and she let out a strained sigh. She couldn't be pissed, if the roles were reversed she probably would have raced out with no pants on she'd be in such a panic.

She caught the disappointment in his eyes and it pained her that he was kicking himself for not bringing them.

"I can get them–" he started.

"No," she cut him off. There was no way she was going to let him drive an hour or so to Queens and back.

He was watching her strangely and she knew he was going to ask what the alternative was. The idea had been circling her mind the moment she was trapped and it was now that she'd realized they were officially out of options.

"Just," she started, closing her eyes, unable to look at him when she said it. "Just break it." When she opened her eyes again she saw the confusion evident, his eyes narrowing in question. "The bar El," she told him softly, her hands encircling the wooden rod. "Break it."

She saw the hesitation, the nerves, the flush of heat that climbed up his neck at her implication. He'd have to get closer, lean over her, maybe even kneel on her bed in his attempt to snap the bar. The wood was thick, she knew this, but he was strong and maybe he'd have a chance.

"Liv," he sighed with a great deal of hesitation, "even if I _could_ break it, you're still going to need keys-"

"Please," she cut him off mid sentence and her voice was begging him now. "I can't lay here any longer." She yanked at the cuffs in frustration and the metal connected sharply with the wood, echoing through her bedroom. She knew she was on the verge of losing it, she'd thought she'd be home free by now and the longer they prolonged this the shorter her tolerance was becoming.

He was looking at her now a little taken aback at her outburst and watched the restraint slowly slipping from her by the second. His hands came up in a calming, passive gesture.

"Ok," he tried to settle her nerves with the notion of compliance. "Just give me a second alright, I'll get you out."

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

Without another word he was walking towards the door and heading into her living room. When he was officially out of sight he sucked in a deep breath and braced himself against her desk.

_Fuck._

She was ok at least. She had to be, no cuts, no bruising, no torn clothing, no mascara stains, no signs of foul play except for the handcuffs. She was on edge – understandably but she wasn't beside herself, she wasn't numb, in shock or dealing with a painful aftermath. He saw women like that everyday and unless she was the next Meryl Streep, he was certain she hadn't been attacked. She'd looked him in the eye and told him so herself. Twice.

The question now remained, why was she handcuffed to her bed practically naked and who had sent him the text message?

_Fuck. _Questions that would only prolong this ordeal when she'd made it abundantly clear she was moments from losing it if he didn't act quickly.

He couldn't do this; it was hard enough preventing his eyes from falling south, let alone breaking her free. Why the hell wouldn't she just let him get his keys? It would be so easy, one insertion of metal into metal, no touching, no looking, no prospect of a hard-on.

_Damn it_, he needed to get a grip. She was tied to her bed after some kind of ordeal and he couldn't get his mind off her breasts, her thighs, her stomach – so much exposed bronze skin counteracted by white stain. It was official he would never sleep another night in his life.

He'd managed to keep his eyes on her face but he would never again underestimate the power of peripheral vision. Her breasts, _fuck_. Every time she filled her lungs with oxygen he'd see them rise ever so gently before descending again. She wasn't lacking in that department, he knew this already, but tonight – the angle, the bra, there'd be a hell of a lot more than a handful beneath his palm.

_Fuck_, what was he thinking? Picturing himself touching her right now was all kinds of fucked up. He needed to get it together, she needed him, and right now he was acting no better than the pricks he arrested on a daily basis.

He dug his hand into the open desk draw and located what he had come out here for. _He could do this_ he willed himself, it was just Olivia; his partner; his friend. The only thing he needed to focus on right now was setting her free.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

Ok so don't forget this is my crackfic-ish escape and I can't promise I'm sticking to the rulebook on this one.

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Her eyes traced the small ridges in her ceiling as she waited.

What was taking him so long? What was he doing out there? Why couldn't he have just broken the post and be done with it? She'd seen him punch lockers in, break doors down, hell the guy could lift the back of a car off a dying woman if the situation called for it and he was panicking over a rod in her bed?

She arched her back. She was getting restless and stiff and there was a small twinge in her lower back that was starting to gnaw. She propped up a leg along side her other while she attempted to shift her body into a more comfortable position.

When she looked down all she saw was cleavage and her heart started to thump. She wanted desperately to reach down and tug her bra upward because the amount of skin that was exposed right now was bordering on a nipple slip.

_Jesus,_ she would die. She had to stop moving around or it would be a real possibility.

As the moments ticked past, her frustration mounted and when she realized she could no longer hear sounds coming from her living room she lost her cool.

"Elliot," she called out impatiently and without another thought her arms were encircling the piece of wood as she used her propped leg as leverage to pull. She yanked once, twice, her upper arms buckling under the pressure until a groan of failed exertion left her mouth.

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

He heard his name, followed by a series of grunts and exhales. He slammed the desk drawer shut in frustration.

_Damn it woman. _

When he made his way into her bedroom he stopped just short of the entrance and his mouth practically dropped at the sight before him.

Her long leg was propped up, digging into the mattress as she arched behind her, gripping the wood. He couldn't prevent his eyes from gliding across her taut stomach that was clenching as she twisted and he held his breath as his eyes ran over her breasts arched in mid air.

He could see the muscles in her upper arms flexing under the pressure and the muffled sounds of her biting her lip in exertion. He should stop her he realized because he knew her attempt was futile but his eyes were frozen in place. She had involuntarily given him a free ticket to take her in and he was redeeming it. As she yanked suddenly, her leg slipped out from under her and she and collapsed on the bed with a huff.

"Damn it Elliot, are you just going to stand there?" she expelled angrily and the flush of crimson seeped immediately into his cheeks.

_Fuck._

He was caught red handed. She knew he'd just been standing there ogling her body and he didn't have a hope in hell of denying it. Instead of apologizing or assisting her, he did what he did best.

He got defensive.

"There's no point in breaking the bed Olivia," he feigned irritation to disguise his embarrassment. He wasn't looking at her, instead he was focused on the small piece of metal that he was extending out of its former position.

"What is that?" she asked him confused. "What are you doing?"

"Saving your headboard," he muttered as he bent the paperclip into a right angle.

He heard her exhale her frustration but ignored it, putting the clip between his lips and starting on the second.

"Are you kidding me?" she practically whispered to herself. "This will take hours."

"It won't," he assured her stepping forward once he got the second clip in position. "I've done this before," he told her with confidence. The only difference was, it hadn't been from such an awkward angle and the person he was freeing wasn't his semi-clad partner.

He knows that he should cover her. A robe, a towel or at least pull her comforter down and have her slide beneath it and if she asked him to, he'd comply in a second. He just couldn't shake the feeling that if he took the initiative himself it would be an admission. That her body was a distraction to him and he wasn't going to make this a big deal.

She was eying the paperclips in his hand and he could sense her hesitation but he wasn't going to give her a choice. He was done with debating this and it was ending now. He would free her, she'd explain and then he'd go home for the few remaining hours before sunrise and try not to touch himself.

His hands were shaking slightly, he was nervous but he wasn't going to let it show, nor would he take his time with this. He was moving over to her now at lightening speed and the bed bowed under the weight of his knee before she had a chance to protest.

He still had one of the paperclips in his mouth and he realized there was no way around it. He'd have to hold her wrist so he could steady the lock while he picked it.

He wasn't going to over think it.

His hand encircled her wrist without another thought and he felt her breath hitch softly below him. His face hovered above hers but he wouldn't dare look her in the eye. It was her chest however that he couldn't miss as it rose and fell beneath him more rapidly than before. He urged himself to block it out as he slotted the first paperclip in and bent it accordingly. The angle he was reaching from wasn't ideal, one knee on her bed, the other practically tiptoeing on the floor in an effort to steady himself. It wasn't going to work; he knew he'd have to get closer if he actually wanted to free her.

His eyes moved down to hers and he saw her staring intently up at the ceiling. He considered asking her if she'd mind him moving closer but he didn't have to make this a big deal. He nudged his knee further onto the bed as he pulled himself completely off the floor until he was kneeling parallel to her hips. He'd miscalculated the added weight and as the mattress bowed her body tipped into him, her hipbone connecting softly with his knee.

_Fuck._

He didn't move, she didn't move and he kept his attention solely on the lock as he continued to dig the piece of metal in further. It wasn't until he'd got it firmly secured that he could feel her lower half subtly shifting, recreating the space he'd removed. They were no longer touching and he could breathe again.

As he steadied the metal with one hand, he was reaching for the second piece when it fell suddenly from his mouth and landed directly onto her body. He froze, it had fallen onto her chest, just above her breasts and she moved quickly upward before he had the chance to stop her. It slid down her chest, between the valley of her breasts and wedged itself under the material of her bra.

_Seriously? Fuck._

On any given day he would find this humorous, because the irony of this situation, not to mention the odds were beyond ludicrous. It was the universe however that seemed to be laughing at him. It was fine. He was just going to tell her to sit tight until he got another one, there were plenty in her draw. He would just have to twist another one into place.

She lay back down with a sigh, shaking her head. "Just get it," she rasped and the irritation in her voice was bordering on toxic.

Her demand caught him completely off guard. Was she really suggesting he dig his hand between her breasts? Was she insane? She was _fucking_ insane! Maybe she was kidding, maybe this was some kind of cruel joke. No, she was far too irritated to be joking right now. She was dead serious but there was no way in hell that was happening.

He cleared his throat. "Hold this in place while I get another-"

"Elliot," she cut him off and her voice was now a great deal lower fuelled by her increasing impatience. "Just," she started softly, "get it," she practically seethed, her low vocal tones making his mouth run dry.

With one hand still steadying the piece of metal already inserted, he used the other to tug at the pillow beneath her head. She was looking up at him in confusion but he'd slid it out before she had a chance to question him. Her head connected firmly with the mattress and she was now a great deal lower from him. As he tossed the pillow to the side he realized he could breathe again.

"Arch backwards," he told her decisively and her eyebrows rose immediately.

"Excuse me?" she was looking at him like he was insane.

"Gravity Olivia," he spoke firmly, he wasn't going to get into specifics. It was simple, if she arched backwards it would slide back down into her neck. He could then retrieve it without having to shove his hands into her bra.

She was looking at him like it was the most absurd suggestion she'd ever heard but if she wanted to challenge him on who was finding this situation more irritating, he was quickly becoming a competitor. She must have noticed the patience slipping from him because reluctantly she started to comply.

He wouldn't look at her he told himself, he was focusing on her wrists and her wrists only as she propped up both legs, her hips rising slightly off the bed as she arched her chest backward just waiting for the penny to drop.

It didn't.

She held herself there for a moment in mid air, her hair falling freely behind her and she shook herself firmly, once, twice, and still nothing. He couldn't help it then, the laugh left his mouth before he had a chance in hell of stopping it and she was dropping back down on the bed sporting a heated scowl.

"Seriously Elliot?" she almost yelled, failing to see the humor. "You think this is funny?"

He bit into his lip to stop the smile from overtaking but it was too late. He knew he shouldn't be laughing, this wasn't funny, this was the complete opposite of funny but he couldn't wipe the goddamn smile off his face. He should apologize, he should compose himself but if he didn't laugh right now, he'd probably cry. When he finally managed to gain some semblance of composure, his eyes chanced contact with hers and she was shooting daggers. In no way, shape or form did she see the humor and her dark gaze was now shifting to the ceiling.

She was fuming. She closed her eyes and her jaw clenched before she spoke. "I swear to God Elliot if you don't-"

His free hand moved then and his mind wasn't physically processing it, but his fingers were slipping between the centerof her bra. She tensed against his touch, froze instantly as his hand made contact. The first thing he felt was the warmth of her skin followed by immense softness. As his hand dug deeper into thematerial his thumb and pinky incidentally swiped the firm swells where her breasts met and he heard a noise escape her mouth. His fingers were thick and the firm pull of the material practically trapped his hand against her chest. When his fingertips managed to secure the piece of metal he waited just a beat before he pulled his hand out, the material snapping firmly back against her skin.

His heart was thumping, his fingers were tingling and if he so much as looked at her right now he would lose it. He would process what just happened later, not right now, not while the rise and fall of her chest was now racing beneath him.

He casually went back to the cuffs as if he'd thought nothing of it. He inserted the second piece of metal and twisted it around. He could see below him that her breathing had been noticeably affected. His hands between her breasts had rendered her speechless and he couldn't feel her fuming anymore. She was still tense, but this was different. This was something else.

It was if her response to him had given him a new sense of confidence because his eyes were slipping from his task and running over her face. Her eyes were closed and she looked as if she was trying to control her rapid breaths. He had absolutely no right to lower his gaze but the mood between them had shifted and he could no longer help himself. Slowly and somewhat cautiously he waited a few seconds until he let his eyes run down her chest and over her breasts.

He swallowed when he saw her nipples were peaked and practically protruding through the satin now. His hands did that, he hadn't touched them directly but he'd been between her breasts, causing that reaction. They were dark beneath the creamy satin and he swore his dick just twitched.

_Fuck._

He was going to hell. It was official and the moment her eyes opened she'd be the one to send him there. He must have a death wish he decided because his eyes weren't moving yet, instead they were running over the flush of goose bumps that had ignited across her breasts when it wasn't even cold. He wanted to touch her, more than anything, squeeze her, feel the softness underneath his palm and let his thumb swipe firmly across her erect nipple._ Fuck._ Just once.

"Take a picture," she spoke softly snapping him out of his daze and his eyes flicked instantly back up to hers. They were still closed, they probably had been the whole time and she had just known. Her tone hadn't sounded angry, or irate but it hadn't necessarily been pleasant either. The sarcasm had been evident.

He should be embarrassed or at least apologetic but he just moved his attention back to her cuffs as if the past few seconds hadn't happened. As he worked the metal into the lock he saw her out of the corner of his eye, a leg sliding up absentmindedly. She left it propped up as it started to sway subtly back and forth. She wasn't breathing heavily anymore, her body looked completely relaxed and even he seemed to have his breathing under control for the time being.

The second paperclip wasn't cooperating and it should piss him off more but he was in no rush now. He wasn't purposefully prolonging it but this calm, serene Olivia beneath him was easing the urgency. As he held the first piece of metal in place, he pulled the second one out completely. He felt her eyes on him as he used his mouth to bend the piece into a sharper right angle.

"You're a real pro at this" she scoffed, her words dripping in sarcasm as those brown eyes stared up at him.

Seriously? Was she kidding? Did she really just say that? Here he was trying to help her and she was giving him shit? He wouldn't bite back. As tempting as it was - he wouldn't. Instead he just narrowed his eyes in defense.

"It's the small paperclips," he informed her a little too sternly. "The larger ones are stronger." Yes, it had nothing to do with the fact that he'd been distracted by her breasts since he'd started this.

He was waiting for another snide remark to come out of that mouth but she seemed to be content with his justification for the time being.

He pulled the paperclip out of his mouth and when he wasn't satisfied with the angle, he moved to bending it one handed between his thumb and forefinger. She was still looking up at him, those brown eyes staring right at him as he focused on the metal. As he applied pressure, the tension radiating from her undivided attention was making him falter. It was when she spoke again that he lost it.

"You could have broken my bed 5 times already."

The piece of metal slipped under the strain and flung downward, sliding off the curve of her torso and onto the bed beneath her. Her eyes narrowed and she was moments from saying something when he snapped.

"Don't," he cut her off firmly. "Just don't ok." He'd had enough.

His hands slipped down before she could say a word and he was feeling around on the bed beside her waist. He couldn't see a thing but his fingers were searching for the metal. When the tips of his fingers brushed against the bare skin of her waist he didn't retreat, instead he let them skim the perimeter of her torso until he reached her hip. Her felt her body shiver against his touch.

"Under," she whispered and his eyes darted to hers in question.

She raised her hips up enough for him to slide his hand beneath her body. The metal had fallen where the bed bowed beneath her weight. He snuck his hand further beneath her and when he secured the paperclip his fingers curled around it into a fist. A small noise escaped her as his knuckles brushed the satin of her panties.

_Fuck._

He'd just grazed her ass.

He moved his hand out quickly and she let her body sink back down onto the bed as he turned his attention back to the cuffs. He was shaking now, he couldn't do this, this whole attempt was redundant. His concentration was fucked, the paperclips were too thin and his pants were too tight.

"Liv," he whispered softly and he knew his tone had carried all kinds of alarming undertones because he heard her swallow beneath him.

A few moments passed between them and she wasn't looking at him anymore. He could tell she knew something was happening here, that it was possible he would call her on what was actually going on. The touching, the tension, the undeniable ache. He wanted to, _fuck_, he wanted to spell it out to her in black and white. Tell her she was the reason he hadn't slept a full night in over a month. That she in large part, if not the whole part, was why he'd moved out of his family home. He wanted to tell her that he lost his shit with her today because he wanted a hell of a lot more than she was willing to give.

He wanted to sink down on top of her, shove his tongue into her hot, open mouth and grind himself against her. He wanted to pull down her panties and hear her groan as he slid his length between her folds. He wanted to feel her walls clench around him and scream his name when she came. He was one selfish son of a bitch because he deserved none of it.

When she didn't answer and he had no words left, something inside of him stirred and he realized he was done with this. With it all. He pulled the two pieces of metal out of the lock and tossed them carelessly onto the bedside table.

He could feel her eyes on him and the tension in his jaw was almost an ache now. When he finally chanced a glance in her direction they locked eyes and his body began to stir into gear. He moved in closer, practically crawling on his hands and knees until he was looming over her. He planted a hand either side of her head and he heard her throat catch as she stared up at him.

Her eyes darted back and forth, questioning, anxious and curious all at once. Finally, after moments of just watching her, his hands came up, encircled the piece of wood and gave it one hard wrench.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

Really sorry – I didn't intend on being this long. Thanks for all the kind words. I'm truly overwhelmed by the response to this story as I'm aware that for the most part - it's insane. Thank you to my beta LeMiSo who inspired some deliciously sexy turn of events in this chapter and helped reign me in when I tried to take this to crazy town!

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She felt the entire bed jerk beneath her.

She hadn't been prepared and the force sent her heart rate into a spin. Her body jolted so fiercely beneath him he'd practically given her whiplash.

She would have said something lighthearted like _give a girl some warning_ but she knew things had changed. In just minutes pylons had shifted, lines had been crossed and the mood between them had become thick with arousal.

He'd lost his temper, his restraint, his manners and she got what she wanted. His eyes on her body, roaming without preamble. She felt guilty, intoxicatingly so because she hadn't made this easy on him. She had been rude, demanding, sarcastic and then somehow spiraled into flirtatious. The emotions spilling through her tonight had become scrambled. She'd gone from devastated, humiliated, anxious, restless, angry to turned on.

Now that's all she was. Turned on.

If she thought she was heated before with _what's his name_ she was kidding herself because lying semi naked beneath her partner while he tried to control himself was the hottest she'd ever been.

She wanted him to touch her.

When she'd told him to get the paperclip she didn't think he would do it. The demand manifested from anger brought upon by her lack of patience. She had wanted it to end. But when his hand dug between her cleavage and his rough fingers skimmed her breasts she felt it between her legs.

_Hard. _

Now she no longer wanted it to end.

He hadn't loitered but he hadn't rushed it either and she wondered if his restraint was deteriorating as fast as hers was. He'd touched her waist the second time, then grazed her ass and there was something about this whole scenario that screamed poorly plotted 80s porno. She wondered what he'd do if she actually voiced the words circling her mind right now.

_Touch me._

The bed jerked beneath her again.

_Touch me El._

_Fuck._ She needed to stop thinking like this. He was her partner, her married partner and right now she should be focused on the aftermath. What exactly she thought was going to happen when the bed pole inevitably snaps. What then? She'd need to explain, troubleshoot and eradicate this whole mess.

But right now she didn't care, in this very moment thoughts of the case, potentially losing her job, Elliot's reaction when he finally finds out what happened – all took a back seat. All she cared about right now was the man above her and the heat between her legs.

The bed jerked a third time and she realized she should start preparing herself for these motions because each one sent her heart rate jolting not to mention her breasts. She brought both legs up then and braced them against the bed. His eyes were still focused on the pole but he hesitated for a brief moment before he wrenched at the wood once more.

It hadn't even splintered.

After a few more firm jerks he was grunting from the sheer exertion and her mouth ran dry. _Damn it_, the exertion coming from his mouth, the bed squeaking, not to mention the way his teeth sank into his lower lip as he yanked at the wood. She couldn't peel her eyes off the sight of him if she tried.

When he realized his efforts were fruitless he lent back on his heels, slightly out of breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. She watched him struggle internally before he pulled himself out of it and started to strip off his jacket.

She held her breath.

She knew it was getting warm in here and the heat not to mention the restriction from the leather wouldn't have helped. She was screaming at herself to look away but her eyes were raking over the grey of his shirt, tracing the ridges of the defined muscles of his chest to the bulk of his upper arms.

She had no tact she decided because she could feel his eyes on her as she let herself drink him in and she wasn't apologizing. Maybe it was the rum that gave her the balls or maybe it was because he'd eyed her body too, or maybe it was that she was officially done holding back.

"Liv," his voice didn't even puncture her haze, her eyes were still on his chest and all she wanted now was an excuse for him to take off his shirt. "Liv," he repeated and when she'd registered the tremble in his voice her eyes gave in and moved up to his.

They locked onto the blue.

She didn't speak but she gave him her full attention. Her heart was thumping in her chest because damn it she'd been so freaking obvious and maybe, just maybe he'd crack too. Her heart pounded at what he was about to say, the possibilities were endless but all she wanted to hear was the words of him breaking - _I want to touch you._

A few breathtaking moments passed until finally his mouth began to move.

"The angle," he said softly. "It's wrong."

The disappointment encased her but it was a dose of reality

because of course he wouldn't have gone there.

_It's wrong._

The double-entendre hadn't escaped her. She was his partner of 12 years, tied to a bed, vulnerable as all hell – not to mention the fact that he was married. He always did the right thing and it killed her because tonight, given the choice - she wouldn't.

"Okay," she said quietly, still unsure of what he expected her to do about it.

"I need to.." he began quietly before he broke off the eye contact and she could sense his anxiety had just risen a few hundred notches. "I need to get front on."

The penny dropped.

The heat between her legs was practically ablaze now and she was having trouble breathing. Was he suggesting he straddle her? Was he really going to put a leg either side of her body and loom over her as he continue to wretch at the wood? She didn't think her body could take it, surely this would be what would break her.

Her mouth opened and then it closed again, she knew she was only playing with a matter of seconds now because any hesitation would only deter him.

"Okay," she said softly.

He looked unsure, as if he were trying to figure out if she knew exactly what he meant by getting 'front on'.

"It's fine El," she told him, but it wasn't. _Damn it_, fine was the last thing it was. She tried not to let the hesitation show because if Elliot so much as suspected she had concerns he'd find another way. Fuck she wanted this. It was selfish and unjust but right now she was thankful he hadn't been able to find the keys.

She saw the uncertainty clear as day in his eyes but far from driving to Queen's and back they both knew they were out of choices. He was still watching her cautiously and she wondered what he was waiting for.

"Put your legs down," he explained, his voice a notch lower and chills flitted throughout her body at his request. It was then she realized she still had them propped up from grounding herself from his thrusts.

The heat filled her cheeks when she realized this was actually happening, he was actually going to straddle her hips and break her free. She slid her legs slowly back down the comforter and tried to settle her hips into a comfortable position.

She felt the mattress begin to shift beneath his weight until it bowed completely and he was moving off the bed. She watched him head towards the end of her bed until he disappeared from view. She wanted to move up so she could see what he was doing but was restricted by the cuffs. She waited, impatiently, until she heard some rustling before he stepped back into view. She saw it then, her yellow cocktail dress bunched in his hands as he hovered beside the bed.

She swallowed.

He was looking at it strangely as if he were only now just piecing together the potential scenario from tonight. When he locked eyes with hers, her mouth opened intent on explaining, brushing it off, but he was stepping forward before she had a chance.

Her skin tingled as he placed the material over her body until it very loosely covered her from view. The top section only just concealed her cleavage and the bottom pooled around her upper thighs. He eyed her cautiously as he began to climb onto the bed and her nerves ignited as he crawled over her. He was on his hands and knees as he placed a palm either side of her body. He then moved a leg over until he was kneeling either side of her hips. She felt the mattress bow beneath the additional weight and the motion caused the yellow to slip a little lower down her chest.

His eyes dipped down, registering it but fixing the slip would mean he'd have to use his hands again. He didn't go there and she figured some coverage was better than none at all. He was raised off her body, with just the slightest hint of denim ticking the skin of her upper thighs. But it was his position that she was focused on and the very real possibility that made her heart thump incessantly in her chest. If he so much as leant back even a smidge, his ass would connect with her pelvis.

Her nipples were erect right now, painfully so and they were only just covered by a dress that she figured in moments would be pooling at her hips by the force above her.

As he began to lean forward he was making a conscious effort not to make eye contact and her heart began to thump at his impending proximity. It was when he was reaching for the pole that his eyes flicked briefly to hers and that one startling image was now imprinted in her mind. She now knew what it would be like to have Elliot Stabler on top of her. Fuck.

She didn't want freedom now, she wanted to stay right here, bound to her bed while he sunk down and drove his tongue in her mouth. The realization struck her that in this moment she would let him do whatever he wanted to her. His mouth on her breasts, between her legs, his hands, roaming anywhere and everywhere. She'd give herself to him completely and it was then that she realized the boundaries and principles she'd lived by her entire life had shattered over that one defining awareness.

He had wanted to touch her, she knew it, the way he'd been looking at her, eyes roaming over her breasts, her body. All he'd have to do was say the word and she'd let him.

She wanted him between her legs. His hands, his tongue, his – anything. She didn't care. She was dripping and it was practically an ache, she knew the moment his fingers slid into her panties he'd groan in surprize. His eyes, his presence and his body was all the foreplay she needed.

He yanked on the wood once and a small sound retched from the back of her throat as the bed beneath them shook. She saw his biceps tense, his body jolt above her and it had hit her square between the legs. Her nipples were scraping painfully against satin as he yanked at the wood again and again

Her eyes slipped shut.

She was just listening to the sounds now, the bed rocking beneath her and the gruff noises from above. The heat flooding through her body was unbearable and she could feel it spreading across her chest and up her neck. As his thrusts continued she began to hear the wood slowly start to chip and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She hated his strength now she realized because this was all about to end. She dug her teeth into her lower lip as the bed continued to rock and she shifted her hips slightly beneath him, the denim of his jeans scraping across her hip. She wanted to moan.

Her dress was slipping downward with each thrust and the night air was tingling each section of exposed skin. Her peaked nipples were an ache now competing with the throbbing between her legs. She heard it then, the wood splintering, the uncontrolled slip of his hand and the defining moment when his ass sunk forcibly into her lap. She moaned, hard. The contact sending a wave of liquid heat between her thighs.

She'd been aware that the dress had slipped down her front but it wasn't until he shifted on top of her that her mouth parted and her eyebrows drew together in her attempt to stifle the pleasure.

It was denim against satin.

The abrasive contact from his jeans made her want to roll her hips upward, against him, and feel the pleasure ripple over their contrasting materials.

Her heart was thumping at the thought but he was moving now, lifting his lower half off her completely and she tried not to let the disappointment surface.

Her dress had hiked up so high from the bottom it was now gathered needlessly at her stomach. Her eyes were still closed when she felt the mattress bow beside her head where he'd dropped a hand to brace himself.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and she felt it then, just how close his face actually was as the small puffs of air heated her face.

She wasn't sorry, she was far from sorry.

She let her eyes slip open then and was met with those pools of blue, her heart clenched at just how close his face was to hers. She didn't respond to his apology, she couldn't, not with him so strikingly close. She simply stared up at him and after loosing her feeble hold on the last remnants of restraint she let her eyes dip purposefully down and over his lips.

If she believed in hell, there'd be a place for her now.

She heard the heart beats of silence, the breaths exchanging between them and her mouth parted slightly. It was then that she wanted control over her arms for just a second so she could, touch him, urge him downward, but all she had was her eyes. She let them slip slowly back up to his and in one moment, one look, she'd given him all the confirmation he needed.

She watched his control obliterate as his lips lowered, hovering for one painstaking moment before they crashed over hers.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you for the words! Thank you to my beta LeMiSo who is a key figure in the existence of this story (she even named it) so it's only fair she gets half the blame :P_

_I apologize for the hard task (pun intended) that she had beta'ing this filth in amongst prying family members lol *__hides__*_

_I was supposed to update Sin this week, but my computer crashed and the update went to computer heaven… clearly I was pissed off, so I took it out on these two._

_Grab your umbrellas people – it's about to rain crack._

**::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::**

He wasn't sure exactly what had snapped in his brain to make him think that this was ok. That he'd actually allowed his mouth to make contact with hers.

She was still trapped between metal and wood and suddenly he was pulling that full top lip between his, latching onto the plumpness that had taunted him for 12 long years.

He lingered, his lips grasping hers and time stood still for what seemed like an eternity before he slowly pulled back, releasing her top lip. He allowed himself the oxygen he'd forgone and hovered mere millimeters from her mouth.

Waiting.

He was bracing himself on his forearms with a knee either side of her body conscious of not physically touching her. His eyes were still closed and dear God he wasn't about to open them. He was waiting for her to tell him to stop, to get the fuck off her, to tell him he'd lost his mind.

Nothing.

He could hear her chest rising and falling and felt the soft puffs of air against his lips. Her mouth was ajar and if he so much as dipped down a fraction he'd be able to taste her, really taste her. He could plunge histongue into her waiting mouth within seconds.

He tried to wrap his head around this. The way she'd looked at him tonight hadn't been in his head. He'd been reading the woman for 12 years and that foreign look in her eyes had made his head spin. It had been a thick visceral desire that made the denim around his cock a painful strain.

The questions were there in his mind. What happened? Where did she go tonight? Why was she handcuffed to her bed? Who was the text message from? The questions hadn't escaped him but the want in her eyes was trumping each and every one of them.

He could sense her impatience, she wasn't moving or speaking or writhing beneath him but her silent frustration was thick in the air.

The power in his grasp hadn't escaped him, he knew the fate of this moment lay solely in his hands. The thought alone made his heart thump and the blood pump fiercely through his veins at how far he could take this. The rational part of him knew with that power came accountability. It was a looming reminder that however far he chose to take this - it would forever be his doing.

He lent down, only slightly and skimmed his top lip across her lower lip ever so briefly before retracting. He'd felt her shiver at the contact and her response caused his forearms to buckle. She wasn't going to stop him, that had to mean they'd at least have shared accountability for this. She couldn't blame him if she was just lying idly beneath him silently egging him on.

He wanted to ask her just what the hell they were doing, what _she_ was doing but there were no words right now, just a wild erratic debate in his mind.

He let his top lip scrape across hers once more and the room started to spin. He knew what he was doing, he was buying time, leaving her small tidbits so he could ascertain how far this was going to go. If he just kissed her, dropped his mouth onto hers and drove his tongue between her lips, would it really be so bad? It could be enough, just to tiedhim over, then he'd come to his senses and put an end to this.

As he hovered over her mouth his lips grasped her top lip on their own accord, dragging it into his mouth and coating it with his juices. It was faint and barely audible but he felt the vibrations of a moan, causing a rush of blood to pool in his groin with a languid throb. Her response had been tangible permission and he was done holding back. He titled his head and wasted no time opening her mouth with his. He kissed her hard, his lips grasping hers, deepening, seeking, urging and he promised himself he wouldn't moan.

She'd be the first to moan he decided, out right and audibly, not stifled and reserved. He wasn't shaking or timid he was running on pure adrenaline as his mouth covered hers. He was taking the control, pushing her to keep up with his keen sense of rhythm and she was meeting him match for match.

He was kissing Olivia Benson.

And she was letting him.

As his palms became game enough to make contact with her arms he squeezed her triceps, his thumbs pressing into the soft muscle. Her mouth opened further to him in response and now she wasn't just letting him kiss her, she was pulling his lower lip between hers and raking her teeth over it. He nearly groaned, nearly lost the promise he'd made with himself but somehow refrained, grasping her lips roughly between his and opening her mouth to him once more.

He wanted to plunge his tongue into her mouth, but fuck he wasn't ready for that just yet. His mind was still questioning if that would be ok, if he'd really be able to turn back after that or if it would tip him over the edge. They had crossed the line already, but how far they went was completely in his hands. There was still time to stop this, to do the right thing and have that inevitable conversation. But she was kissing him back - eagerly and thoughts of ripping his mouth from hers was becoming more inconceivable by the minute.

He needed to move his legs. They were still either side of her body while he relied on his forearms to prop himself off her and the discomfort was evident. He tried to move a knee stealthily between her legs but the denim of his jeans connected as he wedged it between hers, scraping the skin of her inner thighs. She pulled his lower lip between hers in response and sucked and he tried to refrain from humming into her mouth. His thumbs pressed into her muscle of her arms again and she jolted beneath him arching her chest. He felt it then, her nipples scraping against his t-shirt clad chest and his mouth opened against hers in agony.

He groaned, the guttural sound echoing throughout her mouth and he'd just lost at his own game. She'd done that on purpose, she had little control over her body and she'd chosen to up the anti, taunting him with her breasts. He wanted pay back, a reaction, or some sort of sacrifice from her so he slowly let his tongue slip out and trail across her lower lip. He moved it at a devastatingly slow pace but didn't dare dip it into her waiting mouth. He inwardly smiled at how breathless she became as he tortuously tongued her swollen lip.

She attempted to close her mouth over his but he'd pulled her lower lip between his before she got the chance and let his tongue trail the perimeter. She opened her mouth further in hope that he'll comply and slip it in but instead he reverted to kissing her hard, closing his mouth earnestly over hers.

He could feel the frustration building within her then and he knew she was moments from cracking. It was when he tilted his head to the side that she took the initiative, arching up and sliding her tongue defiantly into his open mouth. A guttural sound retched from the back of his throat sending a throb of pleasure into his groin. His knees weakened and before he knew it, his lower half crashed downward, his erection digging forcibly into her upper thigh. She gasped into his open mouth at the contact and he should've been pissed because he'd just crossed an irreversible line in a matter of seconds but he didn't care. The way his cock felt nestled against her warm body was heaven and it took everything in his power not to rock himself against her.

He could feel her nipples hard through satin and cotton and he thought it would be so easy just to run his palm down the expanse of her arm, across her chest and over her breast. He could stop after that, he just needed to feel her against his palm, just once.

His lips had fallen from hers in the process and he was breathing heavily against the side of her face. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath him and he decided he was going to get that moan if it killed him.

When his hand started to move he could feel her bracing herself as his palm ran the length of her arm, continuing down the side of her torso, his thumb swiping just a hint of satin before it splayed over her rib cage. He hovered long enough to thumb the soft skin of her torso. He wanted to say something, now that his lips had broken free but all he could do was breathe.

He wanted to kiss her again but he didn't want the distraction, the muffle of his mouth when she moaned. He wanted to hear it clear as day vibrating from her throat. She was tense beneath him so he waited a few beats before he slid his thumb up until it hit the underwire and he traced the rim. Her eyes were closed and his lips smoothed across the softness of her cheek before he lifted his hand off her completely. When he swiped the pad of this thumb across her peaked nipple he heard her throat catch.

He repeated the motion from base to tip, a noise escaping her mouth, the breathy whimper pulsating down to his cock. He moved his lips until they brushed across her mouth and when he thumbed her nipple again, her mouth dropped open and he wasted no time plunging his tongue between her lips.

She groaned then and he squeezed her breast in response and it was full and plump and breathtaking. He felt her tongue slip into his mouth seeking out his own and he was still palming her breast as her tongue glided across his. He lost his control then, shifting the muscle of his upper thigh, rocking it against her core.

"Ungh," she called out into his mouth and ripped her lips from his letting her head loll back. He watched her - eyes closed, eyebrows etched together in pleasure. He had made a deal with himself that he wouldn't get their lower halves involved but it was too late, he needed to see that reaction again. He rocked into her again, firmly, his thigh connecting with her heat and the whimper engulfed him. His hand on her breast sought out her nipple and his thumb and forefinger pinched her as he rocked a third time and the moan was unmistakable.

He could feel her then, rocking herself against his thigh and his mouth parted at just how eager she was, grinding herself against him. His lips crashed against her temple and he tried to justify their actions. If they just get each other off, fully clothed, was there harm in that? He wasn't going to fuck her, or penetrate her, or even move his hand between her legs. They could just release the tension, the frustration, and they could grind it out like two horny teenagers.

His mind was busy processing when her thigh nestled between his legs lifted, smoothing over the bulge in his jeans sending waves of pleasure into his cock. "Da..on't-" he called out, his voice cracking and he used his free leg to knock hers to the side, wedging his body between hers, spreading her legs in the process. She made a noise of discomfort at the motion, caught off guard as she tried to accommodate him between her body. He thought by removing access to her legs he'd be safe, but as he nestled his hips between hers, his cock connected directly with her core.

Their moans were simultaneous and he lost complete restraint, driving his hips into hers, his erection pushing into her heat. She cried out beneath him as she moved her legs further apart in an attempt to accommodate his body.

_Fuck, this wasn't happening._

He rocked firmly into her and let his head fall onto one of her bound arms as she ground her lower half against his in response. He was rubbing himself against her and the more he pushed into her, the more he felt as if he was penetrating.

It was so warm. He was sweaty, and heated and the perspiration was seeping into the cotton of his t-shirt. He wanted to touch her between her legs, he needed to feel how wet, tender and inviting she'd be. He had visions of her juices seeping through her panties, coating the front of his denim and it made his head spin.

She was writhing then, twisting beneath him, tugging at her arms in frustration. It was clear she wanted control of her hands. The wood had already splintered, all he'd need to do was give it one firm wretch and she'd be free. But fuck, he's a selfish son of a bitch because he couldn't give up that control if it meant he'd have her roaming hands to deal with.

The moans escaping from her throat were getting more frequent and breathier and he wanted to hear her come, more than anything. He let his teeth sink gently into the soft skin of her arm and she twisted beneath him.

"Take-" she gasped between breaths. "Take them off," she finished in a rush.

His cock twitched at the request and his teeth sank harder into her skin. He wasn't sure if she meant the cuffs, her panties, or his jeans but none of the above was happening. He gripped onto her for dear life, his fingers pressing into the muscle of her arms as he let his tongue smooth over the patch of irritated skin where he'd just bitten.

His mind spun at the prospect of running his tongue lower, between the valley of her breasts, across the satin trapping her mounds but he didn't think he could handle it. Her reaction to him sucking and flicking his tongue across her erect nipples would be too much for his cock to process. He wanted to though, so badly and he's a prick because there is a part of him that wants to torture the fuck out of her just to prove how badly she wants him. He thought about running his tongue lower, sweeping down the bronze of her stomach until he hit the satin between her legs. He wanted to taste the dampness with his tongue and hear her reaction when he'd flick his tongue relentlessly over her clit.

_Take them off._

The room was swaying and she'd stopped rocking herself against him and he thought maybe it was because she was waiting for him to take this further. Would it be so bad? He tried to categorize his choices. He could slide a hand between their bodies and touch her, rub her or dare he say – penetrate her. The idea of him sliding a finger or two between her damp folds made his mouth dry because he wanted to know. He wanted to feel the path his cock would take because he wasn't going to fuck her tonight. Jesus he just couldn't, not like this. He wanted her naked too, he wanted to see what's beneath the satin and it's a selfish thought because he's already seen way more than he should have.

He knew they could no longer work together after this and it's a crushing, debilitating thought that he pushed to the back of his mind and refused to acknowledge. In the heat of the moment, he thought it would be ok if it meant he could have more of this, more of what has been off limits for too long. He enjoys sex, he's a man but it's never been a major part of his life. Now however, it was clear, that nothing will ever compare to the unbelievable lack of restraint he has with the woman below him.

He was brought back to reality when her feet moved down the backs of his calf muscles and her hips started to rock into his erection once more. He exhaled deeply because they'd been idol for so long. He dropped a hand to her waist, pressing his thumb and forefinger into the dip and he felt her shiver against him. He slipped his hand lower until his grip latched onto the curve of her hip and he traced her hipbone with his thumb.

He wanted to kiss her neck, drag his mouth down the side and apply just enough pressure to make her arch her chest but her bound arms made it impossible. He moved instead to her mouth and latched onto her lips that were still swollen and wet. She opened her mouth up to him immediately and responded with vigor and he squeezed the juncture at her hip.

He started to push into her then, slow, languid movements was all he could handle because he could feel the pressure mounting dangerously in his cock. She tried to increase the pace with her hips but his mouth closed around hers gently and it was a warning that he was in control. The pace, the intensity, and the lengths this would be taken to was all in his power.

He felt her beneath him, aching against the torturously slow pace but it was his only way of prolonging this moment because he was not going to come in his jeans. He propped himself higher in an effort to slide his tongue in her mouth but he must have knocked her clit because the noise that retched from her throat bordered on inhumane. The sound throbbed between his legs and he rocked forward again, the same motion, hitting her clit and she ripped her mouth from his.

"Elliot fuck-" she whispered and he watched her mouth slam shut, the makings of 'me' being instantly stifled.

_Elliot fuck me._

Jesus Christ.

He processed the words, her mouth ajar, her eyes pinched closed when she'd said them and he wanted to die. He realized that from that point onward when he touches himself, rubs himself off, he's going to think of this - the moment when she begged him to fuck her. His pants were a cruel damp strain which he accounted to an accumulation of her arousal mixed with his own pre come.

He slipped a thumb between the satin at her hip and he didn't know what exactly he was planning on doing but he was bunching the material in his hands as he rocked himself against her. He's only human, he's only _fucking_ human he kept telling himself. How is any living, breathing, hot-blooded man supposed to resist this?

He yanked a little on her panties and he felt her twisting her hips in an effort to encourage him to drag them lower. His teeth sank into her lower lip and she breathed unsteadily against his mouth. Her chest was rising and falling beneath his and the only thought present in his mind now was that he wanted to fuck her. Screw touching, rubbing, grinding – he wanted to skip it all and just unzip his jeans and yank her panties down her thighs.

The guilt was a black cloud above them but she wanted this, she fucking wants this just as badly as he does. She just asked him to fuck her for crying out loud. They could talk later right? She would still talk to him after this, won't she? She would explain, it would all make sense and they would move forward. They would admit that after 12 years they finally lost their pitiful grip on control and next time it would be calmer, more sensual, far less primal. There would be time for words, for proclamations, for admissions.

His lips fell from her mouth as he sank into the small crevice between her face and her arm. They were now cheek to cheek. He wanted to cry, sob into the small juncture he had found because he didn't know if he was doing the right thing. He twisted her panties in his palm and counted the breaths between them.

"Please," he heard her whisper in his ear and her voice sparked the pinpricks of tears then because he knew he was no longer strong enough to fight this. To fight her. Not when she was begging - pleading and writhing beneath him.

He knew he couldn't touch her, he couldn't slide a hand between their bodies and feel the heat, or the juices or he would most likely come. Time wasn't on his side and he felt like a teenager again because he didn't know if he'd even make it. The thought of yanking down her panties and pulling his jeans open caused a rush of liquid heat to seep into the damp ache between them. He took a few breaths, an effort for control because if he spilled his load in his jeans or on her stomach he'd never forgive himself.

He exhaled sharply and he managed to muster some calmness before he pulled at her underwear. Her leg was still propped up and wrapped partially around his hip so he grasped her bare thigh and lowered it onto the mattress. He felt her cheek sink further into his in encouragement, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

He started to slip them down her hip, feeling each and every breath of air she was exhaling. He turned his face, his lips brushing the warmth of her cheek and he wanted to tell her then. This was so much more than what it seemed. He wasn't worried anymore because she needed to feel just how badly he's always wanted her. She deserves to know.

The material was barely over her hipbone when a noise startled him back to reality and his eyes snapped open against her face. He felt the familiar vibration in his pocket and he knew she felt it too because it had been pressed against her thigh.

His phone.

He waited, seconds, ascertaining that the phone wasn't ringing but that it was a text message. He swallowed hard and it was as if the sheen had lifted and the lights had come on because he could now feel the cocktail dress still bunched between their bodies. It wasn't long before the reality of the night slammed forcibly into him.

She must have felt him tense against her because she was trying to coax him, ease him back to her with the relaxed nature of her body. She was seemingly unbothered by the fact that he'd just received a text message in the middle of the morning but the questions were slamming into him like a wall.

He was still horny as fuck and his body was practically shaking from want, dripping in desire but the guilt was no longer a black cloud hovering above them, it was a tangible reality calling out from his pocket.

He knew what he had to do and as much as he didn't want to leave the warm haven that he had beneath him, there was no longer an option. His hands released the material of her panties and he could feel the strain from the body beneath his. As he dug his hand into his front pocket he incidentally rocked into her sensitive core and she exhaled heavily. He felt it too, the sensitive flood of pleasure and it took everything in him not to drive himself against her.

"Leave it," her voice cracked and he could hear the pain, the frustration and the burning need for him to continue. He wanted to leave it, Christ his body was begging him to leave it but he'd registered the fear in her voice and it hit him that she seemed to be hiding more than he'd thought.

He propped himself on one forearm as he pulled the phone from his pocket and as his weight lifted off her upper body he felt her breathe in the air she'd forgone. He chanced a glance at her and he could see the concern etched across her face and his heart thumped as his eyes dip down to the screen.

"El," she started, her tone full of apprehension and he could sense her impending admission or denial. He grit his teeth as his eyes flicked over the letters and it was as if she knew because the message from the unknown recipient had pulled the rug so far out from under him that he was falling.

His eyes finally flicked down to hers and it was a cold hard stare that emitted from his irises and he watched her registering the gravity. He thought he could see an apology within them at first but then it was just complete and utter devastation as she closed her eyes.

He didn't move, he didn't want this to be real, he wanted to go back to heat, the passion, to her telling him how badly she wanted him. Not this. Her eyes were still closed and it was when she bit into her lip to stifle the impending emotion that any doubt of the message's authenticity immediately dissipated.

He moved then, and it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do but he rolled off of her and onto his back. The mattress bowed beneath his weight and he stared blankly up at the ceiling, squeezing his phone in the palm of his hand as if it could somehow magically turn back time. The moments of silence ticked by and he didn't move, or breathe, or speak.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

I'm sorry but there is a good chance this entire fic will be frustrating as fuck.

Your words are my world and so is my beta.

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Her nerve endings were on fire.

But the heat that had ignited her body was contradicting the fact that she was frozen.

She lay still, motionless, completely paralyzed and she wasn't sure if it was derived from fear or shock - or both.

The swarm of heat in her lower belly was a deep throb and the moisture between her legs was a damp pool. Her arms were still locked in their position, and it wasn't until his weight had lifted off hers that she'd become aware of how stiff and rigid her arm muscles were.

It had hit her then - he still hadn't _fucking_ broken her free.

Her eyes were pressed so tightly together that she felt the pin pricks budding and the moisture starting to seep from the corners, but it was due to the pressure from squinting that she attributed this to – because she wasn't crying. _Fuck_ she wouldn't cry.

Elliot was still.

He had been from the moment he'd rolled off of her body and they only existed in silence now.

She had somehow managed to keep her breathing at bay, but with each subtle rise and fall of her chest, her lungs became desperate for a deeper fill.

She should be thinking about the message, the possibilities, the anger that she'd seen radiating down at her from those blue eyes. She was well aware that she should be scraping the shit off the walls and cleaning the blades of the fan right now. Instead, she was picturing his mouth, that tongue, those hands, the groaning, his erection pressing into her, the fact that she nearly came – twice – but that the prick had slowed down and prevented her release, on purpose.

_Fuck._

She knew she needed to be talking, defending, eradicating, troubleshooting, but she didn't want to explain the message, or the night, or the fuck up, or her failure. She didn't want to face any of the music - all she goddamn wanted was some relief south of the boarder.

She could feel the anger pulsating beside her and she should be worried, in fact that was an understatement - she should be terrified. He was furious with her, to the point where she thought it was possible that he might get up and leave her tied to the bed. She should fearhis reaction, yet it was riling her up because she wanted that heat, that fire, that anger she saw within his eyes - between her legs.

His anger was fucking turning her on.

It was when she heard his breathing alter that she knew that something was about to happen. He was either going to say or do something and she only had seconds to prepare herself. Her heart began to thump in her chest and all she wanted in the world was for him to throw the fucking phone at the wall and sink down on top of her again.

Her eyes were still pinched closed and before she knew it, the mattress beside her began to bow as he started to inch closer. Her body involuntarily sunk into the crevice he'd created and she dug her teeth into her lower lip in anticipation. She sensed a flash of movement above her and without thinking, she flinched, unable to control her body from jolting beneath him as if anticipating his impending anger.

She felt him pause, hovering above her and she knew then what he'd be thinking - she'd just reacted as if he were going to physically strike her. When she finally became game enough to open her eyes they locked immediately with his and he was staring down at her with a look of dismay, as if he couldn't believe she'd think he'd do something like that. She felt horrible, awful because she knew it never would have come to that but nothing about either of their actions tonight could have been anticipated. The reality she was now facing was that from this point onward, she had no idea what to expect from him.

His hands began to reach out and she couldn't help it, she was shaking, because this had all become too real and the consequences pummeled into her like a freight train. He was looking down at her with a strange sense of confusion and she didn't want to be reacting like this but any control she had over her feelings tonight had been futile. He moved slowly, hesitantly until his grip wrapped around the wooden pole and she sucked in a breath. She counted three beats of silence before he wretched it once, snapping it completely out the headboard.

She felt the tug on the cuffs and winced as the jagged end of the pole scraped down her wrist in pursuit. She dug her teeth into her lip to prevent herself from calling out as she heard the piece of wood hurtle into the contents on her dresser. Her eyes were clamped tightly shut as the cool sting of air aggravated the fresh scrape. She pulled it down to her chest to shield the wound and simultaneously covered her breasts. She knew it was redundant, he'd already seen and touched her tonight but it was knee jerk reaction to the vulnerability she was suddenly feeling.

She wasn't bleeding, she knew this, it was just a sting but it was deep enough to raise the swollen flesh so she pressed it into her chest for relief. When she opened her eyes again he was staring down at her, still sporting the confusion only now it was mixed with overwhelming concern. He reached out and it was slow but she could tell he knew now that he'd hurt her, or at least that he suspected he had. His fingers closed around her palm and he attempted to pull her bound hands downward to expose her wrist. She immediately resisted, holding her arms tightly against her breasts until his hand softened within hers.

"Liv," he whispered and it wasn't a warning, it was either a plea or an apology, she wasn't sure. She didn't want to make a big deal out of it, she knew it was an accident but the more hesitant she was to show him, the more concern arose in his expression. She let him extend her bound arms slowly downward and his eyes glossed over the raised red line. She watched his features crumble and she knew that it probably looked a lot worse than it was. It was just a line, it wouldn't bleed or scar or bruise. It was just a swollen scrape that would probably fade over night. She tried to pull her arms back, take the visual away from him but he held her wrist steady and continued to rake his eyes over it.

He moved his other hand until he was cradling her wrist and she involuntarily shivered as his thumb ran the length of the raised flesh. He slid it up and down the mark as if he were trying to will the irritated skin to retreat, soften, smooth out.

"I'm sorry," he told her softly, his voice was shaky and the fact that he was the one apologizing right now seemed unjust. She wondered if the heat and the anger from mere seconds ago had dissipated completely or if it was just lying dormant. It was a selfish realization but she was almost glad for the incident if it meant the darkness she'd seen in his eyes had lifted. She didn't want to startle him out of his daze but she needed to wipe the concern from his eyes because the guilt was almost stifling her now.

"It's fine El," she told him quietly and her voice was horse so she cleared it before she continued. "Really." Her arm remained in his hold and she didn't attempt to move it, instead she let her hand slowly twist around, chancing more intimate contact as her fingers curled around his wrist.

They locked eyes and it was an agonizing few seconds before she let her thumb smooth over his pulse point and his reaction was palpable. His mouth opened and his eyes moved slowly back and forth between hers. He was going to say something she thought, or do something and it was when she caught the desire still evident in those irises that her thumb stopped swiping, the breath she was taking lodged in her throat and in one impulsive moment she tugged on his wrist.

He fell unavoidably downward before his other hand flew out, bracing himself beside her head. He hovered above her and their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity before she saw the haze suddenly lift. He pulled his hand immediately from hers and her bound arms thumped against her stomach.

A few beats of silence passed between them before he spoke.

"Get dressed," he told her and just like that the mood had immediately reverted and the anger she thought she'd quenched was now back with full force. She could see now that her futile attempt at reconciliation wasn't going to work and there was little patience left in the man above her.

She didn't take her eyes off him and wondered if he realized that getting dressed with bound hands was going to be next to impossible.

He started to make motions to get off her bed and she assumed he would head out to her living room but instead he walked into her connected bathroom and closed the door a little too she was enveloped in silence she chose that moment to expel the breath she had been holding. She waited a few moments before she moved her hands up to observe thick raised line and she blew on it softly. The sting was more of nuisance than a pain but she continued to blow on it for a few seconds before she dropped her hands against her stomach.

_Fuck._

She knew she needed to get up, grab some clothes and do her best to cover up the undeniable mess she'd caused tonight. She wondered how much longer she had until he'd come out of her bathroom. She pulled her body upward and it was a struggle with the cuffs but she managed to plant her feet on the floor and walk over to her dresser. She grabbed a pair of jeans and all she could find was tank tops and t-shirts but she wanted something more substantial.

She located a grey hoodie and tossed it quickly onto the bed while she attempted to slide her legs into the jeans. It was a trying process with the cuffs but she pulled the material up her thighs and managed to fasten them without stumbling. She reached for the hoodie and quickly made her way into the living room intent on finding these god-forsaken keys.

As she rounded into her kitchen she scanned the bench top and quickly moved items that could potentially be obstructing their view. She pulled out the toaster, the kettle, the empty fruit bowl and was praying she would find the reflective metal shining back at her. She moved frantically because she knew she was on a time limit and wanted to get the hoodie on before he reappeared. When nothing came of her search she squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to think.

They had come through the door, she had the keys in her hands, then he grasped her around the waist and walked her into the kitchen. She remembered he lifted her up onto the counter, she ran her hands through his hair, his body wedged between her legs and he kissed her. Her hands. Through his hair. Meaning she _didn't_ have the keys in her hands. Her line of sight flew to the doorway to where she'd flung them haphazardly on the wooden entry table scattered amongst other items but still in plain view.

_Son of a bitch._

She scraped her hands down her face and the anger coursed through her veins. She wanted to scream. She was pissed at herself for not remembering but she was livid at Elliot for missing the most obvious place in his so-called search.

She stalked towards them, grasped them and twisted her hands accordingly so she could insert the small metal key into the cuffs. Her fingers shook because she wanted this done before he came out and she'd already heard the taps in her bathroom switch off.

She twisted the key, the hinge swung open and she slipped her wrists quickly out of the cuffs, dropping them on the entry table along with the keys. She grabbed the hoodie from the kitchen and slid both arms in before she zipped it up the front. It was an afterthought but she was kicking herself for not grabbing a tank or a t-shirt for underneath.

The anger of the situation now practically consuming her because she realized the entire course of events could have been avoided if he'd just opened his god-forsaken eyes.

The door to her bedroom opened and her heart thumped wildly when she saw him step into her living room. It was seconds before she realized she was going to lose it. She took the two steps towards the entry table, grasped the keys in the palm of her hand and pegged them directly at him. He turned towards her but didn't have enough time to avoid the flying object before it hit him square in the neck. His hand came up to quench the blow but she didn't process the guilt because the anger was too palpable.

"Are you fucking kidding me Elliot?" she yelled and in the heat of the moment she didn't think she was overreacting. He glared at her in response and rubbed the skin of his neck where the keys had connected. She knew it would have hurt, she hadn't held back and the force behind her shot coupled with the jagged ends of the keys would have been extremely painful. It didn't matter she told herself, because he _fucking _deserved it. She removed the steps between them because she was too angry to have this argument from across her apartment. "The keys were on the entry table the entire time!" she shouted.

She was only a step away from him when he grabbed her by the bicep and pulled her until the step between them disappeared. She was up against his chest and the tension in her body was too wild to lie dormant. She pulled back in an attempt to wrench herself out of his grasp but he didn't let up. She used her free hand to slam forcibly into the solid wall of his chest, but he barely flinched, just seized her free wrist and yanked her even closer. Her face was now millimeters from his and noises of exertion escaped her as she twisted in his hold, struggling to control her breathing.

"Calm down Olivia," he told her and she felt the grip around her loosen but she didn't want to calm down. She wanted to fight him, fight this, whatever the hell it was between them, she had been restrained for so long and right now she wanted to explode.

His hands began to release her and she used it to her advantage by pushing her entire body into him. He stumbled unexpectedly backward and grabbed onto her arm for stability in the process. She took it as retaliation and connected her elbow directly into his ribs. He stumbled further backward until the backs of his knees bumped the arm of her sofa and he started to lose his balance. His hand was still latched onto her arm when he fell against the edge of the couch and she knew they wouldn't be upright for much longer. The couch broke his fall before he crashed onto the floor but she had enough forewarning to brace herself with her hands.

A palm landed either side of his head and she immediately leaned back on her heels in an effort to retreat. He was too quick and reached up and grasped the first thing he could secure. Her breath caught when his fingers curled around the material of her hoodie and the tips tingled the skin of her chest as he yanked her downward. She fell into his chest and her palms immediately resisted against the solid wall but his grip on her hoodie wasn't budging. She yanked backward but he was holding her tight and if she pulled any harder the material would rip. She slid a leg either side of his body, braced herself on her knees and grasped the hand that was holding her. She pulled in a futile attempt to wrench his fingers off her and suddenly she snapped.

"Let go!" she yelled and he released her immediately. The motion sent her flying backwards until she crashed onto her side. She could sense she had pissed him off enough to fight her back now and if she didn't move soon he was about to have the advantage. She attempted to scramble backwards but when he climbed over her she panicked and took a swing at his face. He caught her wrist before her palm connected with his cheek and his expression was shock and bemusement as he looked down at her.

The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins as she lifted her free hand and tried again. Her palm connected with his jaw and the open fisted slug echoed through her apartment. She hadn't held back and it had caught him off guard, his grip left her wrist and suddenly she was free. She twisted around in an attempt to move up onto her hands and knees but he grasped her leg and before she knew it he had flipped her over. He moved a leg either side of her body, seized her wrists and in one blindsiding moment dropped his entire weight onto her. His chest crushed hers, his lower half slammed into her stomach and he pinned her arms at shoulder height.

The breath in her lungs was expelled from the pressure of his body weight and she felt every inch of him as he pressed her into the ground.

"The fuck?" he rasped into her and she felt his lips scrape down the shell of her ear. Her legs were wedged between his and that familiar pang in her lower belly thumped from the pressure of his lower half. It was different from the bed; there was no softness to account for his weight, no graces, just the firm hard bulk of his body that pummeled her into the floor. She could barely breathe because he crushed her but it didn't matter. She would gladly forgo oxygen if it meant she got to feel every inch of him like this.

He breathed heavily against her and it was only when his chest expelled a breath that she could inhale one of her own. His grip around her wrists wasn't letting up as if he thought she had a hope of moving right now.

"The hell Olivia?" he was in her ear again and his throaty voice sent a rush of heat between her legs. She didn't want questions, she couldn't explain this, she couldn't explain that she just needed to feel him on her again - damn the cost. She still wanted him; the layers of clothing she'd piled on had done nothing to eliminate the growing need between her legs.

The heat from his mouth warmed her neck and she started to feel lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Her hipbones were crushed beneath him and she knew he would have to relieve some of his weight off her soon or she was going to pass out. She couldn't seem to manage a shallow breath now but admitting this would acknowledge weakness.

So instead –

"Get-" she choked out before she could manage the rest. "-off me."

She was a bitch, she knew this, because everything about her actions tonight had implied she wanted otherwise and she knew what a demand like that would do to him. He was going to question himself now, wonder if he'd crossed a line with her when it was all her doing - her pushing - her forcing him to annihilate boundaries.

He exhaled heavily into her neck before he released her wrists and slipped off her body. As he rolled onto his back she sucked in the air she'd forgone. She felt the color return to her cheeks and the relief of oxygen washed over her. As he lay beside her she closed her eyes against the brightness of her living room and all she wanted was to sleep now. The exhaustion of the night had finally caught up to her and she knew there was only a few hours before the sun would rise.

She wondered what would happen if she asked him to leave. Would he lose his shit completely or just comply? Maybe even he'd agree that things would be easier if they didn't talk. As her heart rate began to taper and her muscles began to sink into the carpet, it was his voice that washed over her.

"Olivia," he whispered and she felt the strain hidden within her name. "Start talking."

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

_I'm sorry this took a century *sheepish grin* if you hadn't already noticed updates from my end are going to be few and far between. It's a mixture of writers funk and that pesky thing called life BUT in saying that please know I have a plan in place for each story and aim to deliver. It's just a matter of when! As always thank you to my beta LeMiSo who will always be needed, my fic advisor Lilyrose who shaped this update for the better and a special thank you to those who are still reading this crazy. Your words rule!_

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Elliot's heartbeat was a solid thump against his ribcage.

He felt like he was struggling to fill his lungs with each breath and if he didn't calm himself down, the anxiety swarming through his veins would threaten to over take at any minute.

_What the fuck? _

She had just picked a physical fight with him, pushed him, slapped him, slugged him. He had no intentions of fighting back but the moment her hands collided with his chest he lost control. He hadn't hurt her, or at least he didn't think he had. She was the one with the brain snap, he had just been attempting to contain the physical outburst.

_Right?_

He'd seen that look, that fire, that raw anger in the interrogation room, directed at suspects, perps, _Thatcher_, but never at him. He should be ashamed that he'd pushed her so far to spark such outrage but there was a sick part of him that reveled in triggering her loss of control. He was a selfish son of a bitch because he needed the physical contact, the connection, the heat. Her rage had sprung from a dark place and the feeling of her beneath him, fighting the truth, writhing against the lies, twisting around the denial made his throat close up and his dick twitch because he knew he had never been so goddamn close to the truth in thirteen years.

He wanted to fight the truth out of her. God help him, he wanted to _fuck_ the truth out of her.

His body had stifled her, without realizing it he came close to smothering the last breath out of the woman. She wasn't one to raise the white flag and it wasn't until her strained voice demanded he get off her that he realized he'd gone too far. She had been moments from passing out and the concept of his bulky mass pushing her firmly into the ground hadn't even registered. It was a mistake he'd made before, considering her too much of an equal, the way she carried herself she might as well be a male equivalent, but it wasn't until his hand made contact with her, that his body pressed against hers that he realized despite her tough exterior, she was soft, fragile, womanly.

_Christ._

He still felt the stirring between his legs and it was a whole different ball game from the grinding on her bed. His loss of control with her was a twisted mind fuck and he wondered if he would ever be able to look at her, or even be in the same room as her without having to succumb to a morally appropriate amount of restraint.

He could still hear her uneven breaths and the heat that radiated a body length away was intoxicating. The thought occurred to him that he might actually have to leave now. There was a part of him that was worried that if he stayed his hands would either end up around her throat or between her legs. He squeezed his eyes tighter and blocked out the dark thoughts. He didn't understand how in one evening everything had shattered; his restraint, his control - his common decency.

He wasn't stupid, he knew the truth, his intense frustration with her, the anger was derived solely from the fact that he wanted more from her, something he didn't deserve. The hostility that escaped during their disagreement at the precinct, wasn't because he felt her opinion wasn't warranted, it was all chalked down to his frustration, plain and simple. He wanted her and, damn it, each day that passed he found his pitiful grasp on denial alarmingly more futile.

_Fuck it._ He wanted to roll over right now, grab the first limb he could locate and tug her until the force of his pull brought her mouth up against his. He wanted to plunge his tongue into her hot, wet mouth and roll her onto her back pinning her body against the ground, just daring him to get off her again. He wondered if she'd resist at first or if she'd just give in the way she had on the bed, abandoning her inhibitions, defying her conscience, relinquishing her self-control in one death defying moment. He wanted to shock her, he wanted to hear her breath catch in the back of her throat as his hands bypassed her breasts and moved straight between her legs, unbuttoning, unzipping - slipping inside her panties to finally discover the liquid effect he had on her tonight.

He wanted to feel the heat of her breath expel against his neck as he pushed two fingers into her warm, tight folds just waiting as her body had no option but to adjust to his digits. He wanted that moan, that throaty, husky timbre to reverberate right down to the base of his cock and he wanted to make her come - more than anything. He wanted to hear her pant, beg, clutch, rock, encourage, whimper and writhe until she finally surrendered to that much needed release. He wanted his name on her lips - breathy yet definitive, as she clenched achingly around his fingers.

"I think you should go," the rasp of her voice broke through his train of thought and his eyes snapped open. His mouth was dry, his palms were clammy and he was having trouble adjusting his eyes to the light above.

His heart thumped heavily in his chest and the irrational though occurred to him. Had she just heard every sick thought that had entered his mind? He pinched his eyes closed and told himself not to be ridiculous, she was kicking him out on her own accord. She wanted him to leave without any culpability or much needed resolution.

The anger began its slow swirl in the pit of his stomach and he decided in that moment he wasn't going anywhere. He needed answers and he needed them now, and damn it she was officially out of excuses. He didn't let the silence stew for much longer.

"No," he told her throatily and although he was still staring at the ceiling he felt the rawness and simplicity of his refusal slam into her. He could taste it; the anxiety, the bitter tension rough as sandpaper against his tongue. He swallowed. He shouldn't be enjoying this but it was ingrained in him and he was going to push her until she broke.

"Tell me who was here Olivia?" his words were a thick, blunt demand that took up all the oxygen in the room.

He was met with an uneasy silence and he swore he could feel her heartbeat thumping through the carpet, reverberating through the hardwood floors beneath. He kept telling himself that she deserved this, after everything she put him through, _she_ deserved to be the one left feeling paralyzed, stifled - on edge.

He heard the strained exhale before his peripheral vision allowed access to the sight of her hand coming up and covering her face. Moments of silence measured by her deep breaths passed between them and for a second he thought she might be crying. He clenched his jaw to stifle the guilt that was now threatening to overtake but despite his wavering conscience - he knew he was in the right.

"Olivia-" he warned heatedly.

"No one," she cut him off firmly, her words muffled by her palm and he hadn't heard worry, he heard anger behind the lie and any sympathy he had started to feel diminished just as quickly as it arrived.

_No one? _He wanted to scream. No one tied her to a bed tonight? No one messaged him at 3 in the morning?_ Don't. _He told himself, _don't lose it. _That's what she muscles in his jaw were a tight ache and he closed his eyes against the light that shone above, trying desperately to rein in the anger that threatened to overtake.

He let out a humorless laugh in lieu of a verbal response and sensed the tension ripen beside him; she knew she was full of shit. All her silence did was spur him on, heighten the anger that was rapidly becoming a blocked pipe bursting for release.

"I swear to God Olivia.." he whispered through gritted teeth and it was taking everything in his being not to roll over and slam his fist into the floor between them.

He heard her blow out her frustration in one heavy breath that became muffled against her palm. He could tell she knew she was in knee deep. There was probably a million thoughts racing through her mind right now and she wasn't able to tackle a single one of them. He heard it then, movement - shuffling beside him and when he opened his eyes she was already in a sitting position. He watched her plant her hands on the ground, bracing herself as she began to stand up.

His fingers flexed beside him and he had to will himself not to do it. He wanted to reach out, grab her wrist, her elbow, her forearm, pull her back down – anything just to get her to stop and talk to him. As much as he felt it was his divine right to force her to answer to him - be straight with him, he was kidding himself. He knew he had to learn to use his words if he had any hope of getting through to her.

He watched as she stepped backwards until her hands gripped the sofa and she sunk down into a sitting position. He didn't move but watched as her face bowed forward, loose strands of hair shielding her face from view. He heard the heavy breaths as she struggled to regain control and the daunting feeling washed over him.

Things were far deeper than he'd anticipated.

"I can't do this," she whispered and the fragility of her voice made him take a mental step backwards. She had matched his anger up until now and he wasn't sure how to deal with the shift in gears.

He started to get up and the strain in his muscles was a tight ache. He knew it would be weeks before he would be able to rid the tension that wracked through his body. He used the arm of the sofa to pull himself into a standing position and slowly removed the step between them. His eyes drifted down to where she sat and it surprised him at how small she suddenly looked hunched over her lap.

He scrubbed a hand down his face because he knew he should take the seat next to her, calm her, ease her, come down to her level. He didn't want to feel like this dangerous, looming presence but there was a stubbornness ingrained in him that he couldn't override. It wasn't long before his pitiful hold on his anger snapped.

"You can't do what?" the sarcasm stained the words that escaped his mouth and he couldn't help but be the prick that he had become tonight. "You can't be honest with me?" he yelled, the volume of his voice raising a few too many notches.

He watched her fingers intertwine in her lap, clenching together firmly and it was the only reaction he got to his outburst. As her thumb began to swipe back and forth across her palm he expelled a heavy, frustrated breath.

"Elliot don't," she whispered.

_Don't. _Like he had no right to call her on her B.S.? She had no qualms dismissing him entirely and after what she just pulled? _Hell no._

"Don't what?" he practically spat and felt the pulse of his heart beat thumping against the raised vein in his neck. When he realized she wasn't going to answer him he dug his hand deep into his front pocket and pulled out his phone.

"Don't ask why some stranger informed me at three in the morning that my partner was in deep shit?" he yelled down at her furiously. "Don't ask why I found you tied half naked to your bed?" His voice was shaking as his palm clenched around his cell phone and he closed his eyes. "Don't question why he just asked if I finished what _he _started?" he threw the phone then and it thumped down on the couch before it hit the floor. "Damn it Olivia, I'm not leaving until I get answers so you better damn well start talking."

She stood up then - abruptly and flicked back the hair that had been masking her eyes. He saw the dampness that was rapidly drying up as the anger took over. Her eyes flicked furiously back and forth between his before she stepped forward and launched into her defense.

"I went out, I drank too much, I met some guy, I brought him back here, he asked me if I had handcuffs, I said yes, he cuffed me to the bed and then he called you. So let me hear it Elliot, let me hear how unbelievably stupid you think I am for letting a stranger do something like that to me. Tell me how I know the risks and that I should know better, tell me how much respect you've just lost for me and how I shouldn't be in this squad let alone be your partner," the breath behind her words diminished in that last sentence and she swiped angrily at a tear that had barely had a chance to slide down her cheek.

His mouth dropped. He had expected to be stonewalled but she'd just unleashed tonight's events in one debilitating, heartbreaking moment. He could barely breathe, his mind was assessing, processing what she had just told him but not one bit of it made sense. He refused to acknowledge the part where she had been willing to give herself to a stranger and instead skipped right to the question that made his head spin.

"Why?" His voice had cracked when he said it and he watched her brown eyes waver slightly before breaking away from his.

He could tell she wasn't sure exactly what he was asking but whatever it was, she didn't want to answer. _Why go out tonight? Why put yourself in such a dangerous position? Why him? _All questions he desperately wanted answered but knew he had no right to ask. So instead-

"Why contact me?" he asked in a hue of confusion. The whole ordeal remained a murky mess, there were holes, loose ends, inconsistencies. There was skepticism imbedded within his tone and he couldn't escape the feeling that he was interviewing a witness.

Her line of sight moved from his probing eyes to the wall behind him and he knew in that moment she had only told him half the story. He watched her quickly try to scramble for the next words and it was when she swallowed the lump in her throat he stepped forward.

"Liv, what are you not telling me?" he spoke to the side of her face and he heard the desperation escape thick within his words. He could have easily lost his shit with her again but he chose to keep his voice calm, low, soothing because something inside him told him it was the only way of getting through. It had been a risk because he saw the look in her eyes, she was about to either dismiss him entirely or feed him a line of B.S. to swallow.

He decided he wouldn't give her either opportunity.

The moment his palm connected with the ridge of her shoulder he felt her react to his touch. He tried to ignore the flurry of tiny goosebumps that broke across her flesh as his thumb dug softly into the dip at her collarbone. He watched her swallow and caught the hint of apprehension in her eyes.

"Please don't lie to me," his voice was just a whisper. His hand skimmed further across her shoulder until his bare fingertips curled around the back of her neck and he felt her shiver against his touch. Twenty four hours ago he wouldn't be able to do this to her, twenty four hours ago he had no right to touch her like this but the plates had shifted and things were different now.

He watched her eyes draw to a close and her mouth part and the space he'd removed between their bodies started to make him dizzy. The thought occurred to him that he wanted to remove what was left of it - badly. He already had a firm grip on the back of her neck, all he'd have to do is pull her forward, one movement. He wanted to feel the warmth of her body up against his.

When her eyes opened again she was watching him intently and he could see in this new proximity that she was having trouble steadying her breathing. His thumb began to move on its own accord, smoothing the column of her throat and his eyes dropped slowly down to her lips. The moment his irises raked over the fullness of her lips her mouth parted and her voice was shaky when she spoke.

"El," she whispered and he heard the warning but he chose to ignore it, instead inching her closer, urging her gently towards him. She took the half step towards him and he felt her hands come up and press softly against the wall of his chest. He knew she was resisting him but the feel of her warm palms up against the thin cotton of his t-shirt made his mouth dry.

He moved his eyes reluctantly back to hers and the deflation was evident. It was moments until he felt her shoulders slump in defeat and her hands slipped downward and off his body. Her head bowed forward in the small space between their bodies and he braced himself for a blow.

"I screwed up," she blew out in a breath, her confession echoing in the cocoon between their bodies and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. His palm remained idle on her neck and when it was clear that was all she was offering he swallowed. He wasn't sure if she was referring to what happened in the bedroom or what happened earlier tonight but he needed to know.

"Liv," his fingers flexed on their own accord and he tried to nudge her to look up at him, talk to him. She finally lifted her head and his heart broke when all she did was stare blankly into his eyes. The tear that had run the course of her cheek earlier had slightly smudged her eye make up and there was still a film of moisture that threatened to spill over once more.

He watched her eyes leave his and she was staring into the distance. He could see the cold depths of her irises and he knew he had lost her. He wanted her to know that they were in this together and that anything she told him wasn't going to change anything.

She pursed her lips together and something in her eyes flickered. He knew whatever it was that she'd been agonizing over tonight had finally come full circle.

"I need to call Cragen," she told him and he registered the thickness of the salvia as she swallowed. Her voice had been riddled with dejection and it threw him through a loop.

_Cragen._

It hit him then how deep this must run and a rush of anxiety flooded through him.

"Liv," he whispered in a slight panic. "What's going on?" he pressed again and he felt movement as her knuckles brushed against the thigh of his jeans as she patted down her front pockets. When she didn't find what she was looking for she stepped around him and his hand slipped unwillingly from its position on her neck.

He gave her a few seconds because it was all he could take before he was hot on her heels. He needed answers before Cragen did. As he followed her through the threshold of her bedroom he saw her grasp the phone off the floor, her shaking hands frantic as she scrolled for Cragen's number.

He stepped forward, his hand closing over hers softly as he attempted to slide the phone out of her grasp. Her palms trembled beneath his touch and it was easier to extract the phone than he'd anticipated.

"Just wait," he whispered. "Talk to me first Liv, tell me what's going on."

"Lindbrook," she expelled, her voice barely audible and her eyes slid down to the white phone that remained clasped in his hands. "He took the case information, all of it," she breathed out and as the blocks fell into place for him she stumbled a little on her feet, as if she were in danger of fainting.

He knew this was huge, it was quite possibly the most sensitive case they had worked to date and now all of the details could be leaked to the media by morning. He knew the severity of what she had just told him but he remained calm, for her.

"We'll figure this out," he whispered, ensuring the volume of his voice didn't escalate much higher than hers.

Her eyes snapped up to his then and he saw the fire ignite. She didn't look like she was going to faint anymore.

"Elliot, he's the mayor of New York City, confidential details about the scandal are now in God knows whose hands and you're telling me we can figure this out?" she finished off in a yell. "I'm going to have my ass handed to me, I'll lose my job, my pension, _everything_ because of one careless.. mistake," she choked out and he heard her voice crack as she dragged out the last word.

She stepped forward reaching for the phone but he was quick to act. He held it behind his body and slipped it stealthily into his back pocket before his hands came up to meet with hers. He closed his fingers gently over her forearms and attempted to draw them down. He felt her resistance immediately as she twisted against his hold, moving forward in her pursuit until she was close. Real close.

"Elliot give me my phone," she rasped into his neck and he could smell the floral scent of conditioner as his chin bumped into her forehead. She attempted to reach around him and he let her, releasing one of her hands as it snaked around his waist for the phone. Her breasts pushed up against the side of his torso and his breath lodged in his throat. As her fingers skimmed the back pocket of his jeans he exhaled heavily against her locks.

"Just wait," he grated into the crown on her head and he tried to ignore what her sudden proximity was doing to him. His free hand latched onto her waist and he held her, his thumb sinking into the dip and his head started to spin. He still had hold of one of her arms and the other had stopped it's pursuit and just rested against his forearm. He could feel her short, heated breaths warming his neck before he swallowed thickly.

"Who is he?" he whispered against her temple and as hard as he tried he couldn't prevent the emotion from escaping within the question. He had no right to be jealous, or angry but he couldn't deny the pure ache that overtook his body at the thought that someone had been with her tonight. Someone's hands, mouth and God knows what else had been on her body, touching her, teasing her, riling her up. No wonder she had been ablaze when he arrived, no wonder she'd looked at him with those lust-riddled eyes. He felt so _fucking_ stupid. She didn't move off him and was making no motions, so he let his grip on her arm ease. He could still feel her, smell her and the concept was starting to stifle him. He needed to get her away from him - and now.

He cleared his throat and pushed her a little too firmly until she had no choice but to take a half step backwards. He instantly missed it, the heat of her breath and the warmth of her body as it came off his chest. His hands fell away and he watched her just stare at him, taken aback.

"How is he connected to our case?" He ignored the confusion in her eyes and instead moderated his disposition, focusing solely on the case.

"I- I don't know," she whispered uneasily, seemingly still stuck on the 360 he had just pulled. He couldn't mistake the flush that had seeped not only into her cheeks but across her chest and something stirred within him. Perhaps he had been to brash in his dismissal of her motives, it appeared that she was just as susceptible as he was to the fire that ignited when they touched.

He eyed her curiously and instead of waiting for her to voice the question in her eyes, he asked his own.

"So you have no idea who he is?" he pressed, almost sounding angry. He watched as she just shook her head before a strange realization flittered across her features.

"He seems to know you," she told him with intense confusion.

Elliot blew out a hard, painful breath and his nostrils flared at the notion that her story seemingly has more layers than an onion. He tried not to let the frustration take over, or he'd risk her shutting down once more.

"He mention me?" His back straightened when he asked the question and he tried not to sound defensive, but it was imminent. Just the thought that he was connected to the prick who did this to her jarred him. He could tell by her silence that he'd struck a nerve - that she didn't want to talk about it, but she'd opened the floodgates and he wasn't stopping there.

"What did he say?" he pushed because maybe something would register and he'd be able to determine who was here tonight.

He watched her lips purse together before her eyes finally made their way back to his and he could taste immense hesitation that was circling her until she finally let the words go.

"He said to say hi," she whispered and the way she said it was unnerving. The words resounded in his ears and he couldn't help but feel immensely responsible.

"I don't understand." He felt the nervous churn return in the pit of his stomach. "How does he know me?"

She shook her head just as baffled as he was. "He spoke of you by name, he knew mine, he knew I was your partner, he's been to the precinct, through our files, he had your number in his phone, you tell me?"

His jaw was a tight ache as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, his mind frantically buzzed at the potential possibilities.

"A past suspect? A perp maybe?" he guessed.

She shook her head. "He knew how to handle my weapon; a cop, a fed maybe, someone you knew in the academy?"

"Describe him," he spoke curiously, determined to find a link, a lead, a connection - anything.

She blew out a breath before she answered. "Brown hair, medium build.. a little taller than you," she assessed and he registered the way her eyes had traced his body, using mental comparisons to analyze their appearances.

Something inside him began to stir at the notion.

"Eye color?" he asked her cautiously and watched as something flickered across her face for a brief moment before she looked away. He didn't know why, but he heard the answer before she even opened her mouth.

"Blue," it was almost a whisper and the confirmation seeped slowly into his body, soothing the ache in his muscles, dispelling the churn in his stomach and he watched her for a good moment as she shifted uneasily on her feet. He should be thinking about the potential candidates he should be liking for the guy but all he could focus on was the silent admission that continued to resound in his ears.

_Blue. _

Fuck he just wanted to touch her again. His fingers flexed with the need, he wanted to pull her forward, close his mouth over hers and forget about it all. He didn't want to be confronted with the image of a man who had just had his hands all over. He wanted to walk her backwards, just three steps, until he had her horizontal. He wanted to unzip that hoodie that she had been intent on concealing her body with - the one he was pretty certain sported nothing beneath it but white satin. He wanted his hands all over her body, mapping it, marking it, making her forget the guy was ever here. He only wanted her to store the memory of _his_ mouth, _his_ hands, _his_ hardness between her legs.

"El," she whispered uneasily and it snapped him back to reality. There was that look again, as if she'd just read every perverted thought that had crossed his mind. The muscle in his jaw jumped and the fact that she was holding her breath hadn't escaped him. She was nervous, uncomfortable almost, she had far more pressing things to worry about and he needed to stop eying her like she was dinner.

It was when she finally tore her eyes away from him that he spoke.

"He say what his name was?" He tried not to let the crack in his voice deter him as he watched the side of her face, a small part of him taking pleasure in the way she had trouble bringing her eyes back to his.

"What does it matter? It was probably a fake," she sighed. There was a deflation in her voice and he knew she thought their search was futile, redundant. He wanted to fix things, fill the gap, solve the puzzle - offer her some semblance of hope.

"Maybe," he told her quietly, his insides swirling with a newfound confidence. "Or maybe not."

She pulled her lower lip into her mouth as her eyes traced his jawline and it looked like she was debating something in her mind. She appeared cautious, hesitant - guilty almost and it wasn't until her eyes finally rose up to meet with his that she spoke.

"Mitchell," she answered quietly and there was something about the way she said the name that wasn't so convincing.

"Mitchell?" he repeated, mimicking the same tone she had used in question. He needed her to reiterate it with more confidence because something was definitely off.

Her brown eyes wavered suddenly before she crossed her arms in front of her, holding them defensively below her breasts.

"Or Michael maybe.." she whispered on an empty breath.

His eyebrows rose, his jaw clicked and he took a moment for it to register. Did he just hear that right? She nearly slept with the guy – she let the prick handcuff her to her goddamn bad and she didn't even know his name. He felt the anger escalating and it took everything in him not to explode right then and there. He wanted to know what had changed. This wasn't her. _Why tonight?_ Why the _fuck_ did she feel compelled to go out, pick up a stranger and completely throw caution to the wind? He wondered how many other men she let herself go with, how many more she had been this reckless with. He felt his fingers curl over into fists and he wanted to hit something, the wall, the prick's face – anything.

As she tucked her arms tighter into the protective barricade across her chest he could tell he was closing off, shutting down. He knew then, she didn't need his words, his criticism, she already felt beyond ashamed.

A softness broke within him then, maybe it was the way her eyes had filled slightly with dampness or the faint sounds of her swallowing back the tears. He knew she was moments from breaking in front of him and that he couldn't handle. He swallowed the bitter words and instead he stepped forward, closer.

"What else did he say?" he asked her, redirecting the conversation. Her eyes were still brimming with tears and he desperately wanted to reach out and coax her arms downward. He wanted to soften her, relax her out of her defensive position.

"Liv, anything you can remember, anything at all might help me figure out who this guy is," he told her gently and he hoped it was enough to break down the defensive wall she had created because he was quickly running out of options.

Her eyes rose up and moved slowly between his and the hesitation was still there but he caught something else now. Something personal, intimate - something he wasn't sure he wanted to be made aware of just yet.

"Just before he left.." as her words travelled off, his stomach swirled because he knew it was too late to stop the admission. Her arms dropped, her mouth parted and the words fell from her lips.

"He said you'd enjoy this."

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

_I know right. Pigs are literally flying through the air right now because I've finally updated this story over a year later. For those who are still with me I am forever thankful for your commitment and patience. I'm beyond sorry for the delay but please know I have written three - THREE very different versions of this next chapter over the course of a year because I couldn't seem to find my way again and nothing came close to where I had been heading. And yet somehow miraculously being hungover in Vegas at 2am ended up proving that third time really is lucky._

_A massive thank you to my beta Leah who dropped everything (even her shirtless future husband) to fix the errors of my way._

_And I dedicate this chapter to Melorgitay who has had blue balls since 2012._

_:::::_

_He said you'd enjoy this._

Elliot's mouth ran dry.

The five words reverberated through his mind as the blocks fell alarmingly into place.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered and a flush of heat seeped up his neck and spilled into his cheeks.

He watched Olivia's eyes trace his features and he could feel himself flushing in front of her like a pathetic school boy. He swallowed, desperately trying to urge his body to calm down.

He needed to crack a window.

"You know him?" she whispered and by the look on her face she almost wished he hadn't.

"Marshall?" his voice cracked slightly.

_Not Mitchell. Not Michael. _

"Marshall Reed?" he stabbed.

He felt physically winded.

He waited, as if he expected her to confirm or deny it when the woman clearly had no idea who had been here tonight. He scrubbed a hand down his face, hoping that the action would suppress the fire that flamed beneath his flesh.

His hands were shaking, he was furious. Ten seconds ago this guy was a faceless, nameless, son of a bitch that he had already near forgotten about. Now he was a tangible, familiar, undeniable reality.

"I can't believe this.." his words tapered off as did his eye contact and he shook his head in disbelief.

_Marshall's hands on white satin, his lips on hers, her body responding to his touch. _

He needed air.

He needed to get the hell out of her bedroom, her apartment, her fucking building. His fists were clenching in anger and he wasn't sure he could trust himself to control it this time. He couldn't stay here a second longer.

"I have to go," he whispered and, fuck, he couldn't even look at her right now for fear that images of Marshall all over her would push him over the edge.

"El-" she reached out to touch his forearm but his reflexes trumped her chance to make contact and he held his hands up in defense. He couldn't handle her touching him right now, he'd already crossed a multitude of lines tonight and if she touched him again, there's no telling how he'd react.

"Don't," he warned, as if his stance wasn't forewarning enough. He could feel her eyes burning into the side of his face, demanding his eye contact but he couldn't for the life of him allow it.

He knew he only had one option, and he was taking it now.

He left, left her stifling presence, left the confines of her bedroom and made his way into her living room. He scooped up his leather jacket, slid the arms on and tried his best to suppress the tension that was wracking through his body, but it was unbearable. All he could see was images of Marshall's mouth on hers, his hands roaming – cuffing her to the bed.

_Fuck._

He kept moving, heading towards her door, yanking it open and he could hear her voice behind him calling out to him with concern. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she'd follow him but he didn't care as long as he was out of there.

The slam of her front door confirmed his suspicions and when she caught up with him at the elevator slightly out of breath he stabbed impatiently at the elevator button, silently livid that it hadn't arrived before she did.

"Talk to me," she whispered but instead of responding or even acknowledging her request, he focused on the numbers that gradually lit up above their heads.

14, 13, 12..

"Elliot," she pleaded and he could practically taste the silent desperation mount as the numbers drew closer. He could sense the pain, the regret, the confusion and, dear God, it was killing him but he couldn't speak to her right now, because if he did he was sure he'd say something he'd regret.

The ding rattled him but shot his legs immediately into gear. He walked the few steps into the elevator stabbing at the dimly lit 'G' and it was a split second as his eyes rose connecting with hers, that doors drew to a close taking her away from view.

The contact had stung.

The elevator began to descend and in the quiet confines of the capsule he expected to feel relief, to find solace in the fact that he had time to think now, to breathe without her stifling presence and those penetrating eyes.

But all he saw was her lips, pressed up against Marhsall's. His eyes, drinking in far more than he deserved, his hands, touching - grasping way more than he should have ever been allowed. He expected to feel anger continue to stiffen his back, tense his muscles, clench his fists, but the only contraction he felt now was a deep constriction in the depth of his chest.

He had no right however, no _fucking_ right to judge who she took home or what she did in her personal life. Did he really think she didn't have needs beyond him? Did he really think their partnership and his shitty excuse for a friendship, would be enough to keep her satisfied?

The elevator finally began to come to a stop and the constriction in his chest had not only extended to his throat now but was accompanied by blurred vision. He closed his eyes against the bright flickering florescent lights and when he opened them once more, tiny pinpricks had caused a layer of liquid that threatened to overspill.

When the elevator doors opened, he took a moment before his legs started again and they were taking him towards his car. The blip-blip of his central locking echoed through the deserted parking station and he wasn't even looking up at his vehicle in his pursuit.

When he came to a stop mere steps from the car his eyes rose and he saw her; arms folded across her chest, her back resting up against his car. Her defensive stance and penetrating eyes automatically caused his back to straighten. He looked away, swallowed the lump in his throat and sniffed back whatever had managed to seep past his solid exterior.

"I swear to God Olivia," he told her firmly and as intimidating as he intended to sound, the raw emotion couldn't help but emanate in his words.

He watched her eyes flicker in response because she heard the crack, and suddenly her hands were coming down, her defensives were softening and he thought maybe it was because she could see the liquid sheen that still lined his eyes.

He watched her bottom lip start to tremble and suddenly it was her eyes that started to appear glossy. Her teeth dug into her lower lip and she exhaled slowly through her nose which managed to buy her some temporary solidity.

"El talk to me," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion and the constriction in his chest clenched in response. He watched her eyes dart back and forth between his searching for some confirmation, some sort of reasoning for his rash behavior.

The lump in his throat was suddenly back in full force and he felt like he could barely breathe let alone formulate words right now. She looked as if she was desperate to touch him, console him, to reach out and just make contact but instead she just used her eyes, hoping desperately for the means to make this right.

The chocolate pools were far deeper than ever and he wondered if he'll ever be able to look at them again without feeling this contraction in the depth of his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek before finally tearing his eyes away from hers and he heard her exhale in pained defeat.

It hurt, it fucking seared into him but the alternative was allowing her to see the depth of his hurt. So instead he took his out, and he decided he was actually going to leave now, because it's come to the point where it was the only outcome either of them can bear to face anymore.

His hand reached out, grasping the handle of the door inches from her hip and immediately it was a mistake. He was a half step closer now, the scent of her shampoo seeped into his nostrils again and his heart started up a steady rhythm at the newfound proximity. He waited, because her body was partly blocking the drivers door and if he continued to pull it open, it would propel her forward.

Into him.

His chest was barely an inch away from hers and despite the chill in the night air he could feel the heat radiating between their bodies. He stared straight ahead at a scuff mark just beside her head and he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. He could tell she was holding her breath, waiting in anticipation for his next move and he knew in that moment - she wasn't going to give an inch.

His fingers moved at this realization and the click of the car door handle caused Olivia to flinch slightly. He hadn't actually opened the door yet, but it was a warning and his hand was practically trembling at the possibility because he knew their bodies would have no choice but to collide if he did.

When all he could hear was her measured breathing he wanted to tell her to move, to leave – to get the hell out of his space and his head but it was a painful confusing realization that even if he did, he'd want her to fight it.

Fight for him.

_Liv. _He wanted to move in now and rasp her name against her forehead, his voice thick, full of warning. He wanted her to deny him, to stand her ground - to tell him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't letting him leave. He wanted her to be the first to make the move, to touch him – to pull him towards her until his body had no option but to press hers against the frame of his car.

_Jesus._

He could hear her breathing had escalated slightly because he wasn't moving, he wasn't speaking and she probably wasn't sure where they could go from here. He sensed she was about to say something, she was losing patience and he closed his eyes then because he didn't want to hear what she had to say. He didn't want to hear the thick, emotion filled rasp of her voice only inches from his ear – he didn't want any further images, thoughts or sounds emerging from her body because he'd already cataloged enough from tonight to last a lifetime.

With a shaky hand he pulled the door only slightly forward, just enough to knock gently into her back, but not enough to bring her body too close to his. He heard her sharp intake of breath at the motion and he waited for her to take the hint, to cut her losses, step aside and let him get in his car. But it was an anxiety filled rush that poured through his chest when he realized she wasn't moving.

He should have known he thought, because the old Olivia would have walked away seconds ago – minutes even. The old Olivia probably wouldn't have even followed him down here, but the series of events that have shaken and eroded the walls around his partner tonight have well and truly changed the game. He knew she had nothing to lose now. Her job was on the line, their partnership was on the line and in her mind her life might as well have been on the line.

He swallowed because this new version of his partner wasn't familiar, wasn't readable and although in the depths of his belly the unknown excited him, right now he needed familiarity to cope because his head has been a chaotic mind-fuck the moment his phone went off this morning.

That thought alone spurred him into action.

"Liv, move," he whispered, his words barely audible, trapped in the space he'd created between them. He felt and saw no movement from her in response, so he turned, allowing his breath to expel against her forehead. He expected this to take effect but she continued to look straight ahead, unaffected - her eye line directed solely at the pillar behind them.

He moved his face back, looking ahead once more and he could count the beats of tension on both hands as they continued this Mexican stand off. He prayed for her to just comply, just this once for her to revert to the partner he knew and step down because he needed time to give the knot in his stomach a chance to unwind and his heart rate to return to normalcy.

"Damn it," he rasped more sternly because he was done with this game and needed her to do her part and come to the party.

She turned then, just her face and it was a shock because now it was_ her_ breath that was heating his neck. Every fiber in his body was standing on edge because he had no idea what to expect from this new version of his partner and it scared the shit out of him.

He wanted to turn again, to face her too, to prove to her that he wasn't affected by this – that he could meet her half way but he was kidding himself because his palms were sweaty, and his fingers were already stiffening in their half-cocked position on the door handle.

He knew if he turned right now their lips would be mere millimeters away. They would be practically brushing. He wondered if that's what she wanted and his body tingled at the prospect. He swallowed again, the action scraping over the lump in his throat and it had been loud enough for her to hear. She knew he was not going to end this and the only option he had left now was to step back and create a safe distance between them.

He was moments from giving in, from stepping back but it was her mouth that parted and the deep inhalation that triggered the snap. It was images of Marshall then, of his hands on her body causing her to inhale sharply before exhaling loudly into his ear. His fingers curled into fists and suddenly it was a force he could no longer control.

He pulled, hard and the edge of the door knocked into her ass, propelling her forward. He heard the noise of exertion as they practically face planted, her forehead bumping his chin – her hands shooting out grasping at his upper arms for stability. He smelled her, he felt her and heat was radiating off her body like a god-dammed sauna but the anger within him overpowered the desire within.

He pulled the door completely open which pushed her further into his body before he cleared the door and she stumbled, falling backwards. Then it was two steps before her ass hit the car and her palms slapped loudly against the metal holding her in place. The noise echoed through the empty parking station and her eyes widened in disbelief. He tried to ignore the look of utter shock within them because he knew what she was thinking.

_Three steps and she'd be on her ass. _

He felt like shit. He did. But he told her to leave, he told her to give him space and instead she used her body as a barrier and her god-dammed mouth to weaken him.

He was done.

She wasn't talking, her eyes were just boring holes in him while she stood there catching her breath. He had an open door, just waiting for him. He could be in that passenger seat within seconds and he could just leave. He didn't have to feel guilty. _No. _This wasn't guilt pouring through his veins right now - and the way she was looking at him with those wide and watery eyes sure wouldn't keep him up tonight.

He moved. It was two steps and he was in the car seat already and he wasn't focusing on the way her face had crumbled from that one action. He pulled the door closed before he could change his mind and he was enveloped in a cocoon of silence. If he didn't turn his head and check the side mirror, he could do this. He slid his seat belt on, clicking it into place and his hands were fucking shaking because he couldn't believe what he'd just done. He just needed to do one more thing now, one tiny little thing. Just insert the key. They were in his pocket. Just dig his hands in and grasp the cold metal and this whole night, this nightmare – would be over.

Except it wouldn't be. It fucking wouldn't be over and all he has ever wondered since the day his gaze lingered on his partner for too long was w_hen will it end?_

The click of the car door handle echoed through the interior of the car and he could not believe he was doing this. He could not believe he wasn't driving away when he had the chance. He was out of the car again and he saw her, still against the side of the car, still staring blankly ahead. He didn't move closer, he stood as a barrier between her and the drivers seat, one arm resting protectively on the car door as if he needed the reassurance that he still had an out.

She didn't turn to meet his eye contact, she didn't even acknowledge his presence but he could tell by her body language that she was conscious of him. The apology she deserved sat ripe on his tongue, but he knew he was far too stubborn and far too angry to give it to her in words so instead -

"Liv," he said softly, almost under his breath and he was waiting for her eye contact before he continued because the only apology he could give her would be in his eyes.

When he didn't get a response he took a step forward, his hand coming off the car door and that was when she turned. He stopped in his tracks because although her expression was unreadable the force of her full attention hit him hard.

His eyes moved slowly between hers as he tried to figure out if it was deflation or defiance he was witnessing, but she just looked blank, tired – indifferent. He wondered if it was an accumulation of the night's events or just the dick move he pulled that had numbed her senses.

He almost wanted to see anger now, because it was familiar, it was tangible, it was the only thing he knew how to deal with and lord knows he deserved it, but she was just looking at him with this broken expression like she was done - done with the case, done with her job.

Done with him.

That thought alone split him in two because he realized this whole night, this whole shit-storm would never have happened if it weren't for him. He was the cause. He was the root. Marshall would have never approached Olivia if it weren't for him and it was that painful realization that allowed his newfound focus to fall intricately into place.

He knew what he needed to do now. He needed to fix this - all of it. She was watching him with a tinge of confusion now because she could see something building within his eyes.

Sheer determination.

He didn't step any closer, instead he relied on the way his shoulders had noticeably relaxed, and his breathing was now far more controlled. His effort to make her feel more at ease seemed to be working because he watched her own shoulders soften slightly in response.

He swallowed, the look in his eyes giving her what he prayed she was reading as an indisputable apology. Then it was moments before he whispered the words that instigated his plan to eradicate this mess.

_Get in._


	10. Chapter 10

So, this story. It's a little bipolar to be honest. One moment it's deep, angsty and tensiony. The next moment, it's light, comedic and cracky. It really depends on my mood at the time I've noticed. Not the greatest basis for story continuity but hey – the words are flowing and at this point that's all I can ask for. Thank you so much for the reviews, really glad you're still on board with this one despite the fact that it was started in the early 1900's!

Oh and a big thank you to my awesome beta Leah for delivering this back to me right before I jet-set outta here. Will do my best to update this one from afar.

:::::

The drive was long. Longer than she'd expected. Not that she knew what to expect because she had no idea where they were even going. They hadn't exchanged any words yet. Not since the parking garage, not since the heated stand off, not since his command for her to, _get in. _

She wasn't angry, she wasn't upset either. She was just numb. Numb to the course of the nights events. Numb to Marshall, numb to the case, numb to her job.

Numb to Elliot.

It was a strange feeling that washed over her at her lack of emotion. The fuel, her drive, the intrinsic fire that burned inside her earlier that evening to fix, to mend, to take back what was rightfully hers.

It had died out back at the parking station.

As they pulled up to another red light a couple walking past the front of their vehicle crossed her eye line. Even the sight of them clinging together on this chilly October morning, didn't register a single emotion. Not one.

Elliot cleared his throat, breaking the silence for the first time since they left her building and it was only then that she felt his eyes on her profile. She continued to stare straight ahead, watching the couple until they left her line of sight completely.

It didn't even bother her that he was watching her, or that he still hadn't told her about Marshall. She didn't even care that he slammed her ass with the car door.

She. Just. Didn't. Care.

"You're angry," his voice croaked from infrequent use and she wondered how long he'd been waiting to say it. Mulling on those two words. Maybe it wasn't even those words. Maybe he debated over, 'you're upset', or 'you're pissed off'. Maybe it was that apology she knew she'd never receive.

Her eyes didn't make it all the way to his, instead they stared blankly at the red hue of the traffic light and she counted the beats.

3, 2, 1. Green.

Her eyes flickered in response, because it was as if she knew it would change at that very moment, like she'd seen this scene in a movie before.

And she was tired of it.

His eyes were still on her, waiting for her to register, searching for some kind of acknowledgment, a response. She thought about mentioning the light had changed but even that seemed like effort, so instead her eyes just continued to pierce through the emerald glow until white reflective spots danced in front of her.

The honk of the vehicle behind them caused Elliot to jolt in his seat but she remained unaffected. His eyes moved from hers to the green light and he knew then. It was clear she'd seen the light change and she hadn't said a word.

Elliot stepped on the accelerator a little too firmly and she sunk back into the seat, closing her eyes, letting herself succumb to the fact that it was nearly 4am and the only emotion that continued to resonate within her was exhaustion.

As white spots continued to flicker against a jet-black backdrop she thought about his family. There should be guilt, and there was. But there had always been guilt, so it was just a fleeting, reoccurring thought that caused nothing but numbness and then just black.

:::::

When she opened her eyes again the car had come to a complete stop and Elliot silenced the ignition. She blinked a couple of times before she sat up a little, rubbing a hand over her face, arching her back from discomfort until she heard the joints in her back crack softly.

They were stationed outside a block of apartments in a part of the city she didn't recognize. Or maybe they were no longer even in the city. She was curious as to how much time had passed but it was still too much effort to lift her arm to look at her watch. One thing was for sure, her body didn't want to be awake right now, and the aches that currently wracked through her muscles were proof that she was well and truly depleted.

She felt him staring again, and this time he had practically bored holes into her profile just waiting for her to turn towards him.

But she didn't turn. Because she didn't care.

When it was clear she wasn't going to respond, he exhaled heavily and it was the firm stab of the seatbelt buckle she heard before he was yanking the car door open. He slammed it with a little too much force and she didn't even watch where he walked, or where he went, or what he did.

She just sat there, alone, indifferent.

Numb.

:::::

What the hell?

He couldn't understand it. Within minutes, seconds even, she had just turned. After everything they'd been through tonight, the long lengthy rollercoaster display of emotions he had witnessed - this was one the one that had him at a complete loss.

Suddenly out of nowhere she just stopped.

No attitude, no argument, no front. She just looked blank, vacant - like the life had been sucked right out of her. Was it something he said? Was it the door? Was that the straw? Or was it earlier, on her bed – his hands, his body, his mouth.

They'd gone from this rigorous ping-pong blame game to nothing, zero, ziltch. Not a word, or a sound, not even some fucking eye contact.

It must have been the door.

:::::

Her eyes were closed, she was lying back in the car seat but her discomfort was evident. It was like shifting uncontrollably in one of those tiny airplane seats in coach. The kind designed specifically so the passenger would have no choice but to upgrade to business class if they wanted any possibility of sleeping.

Her hand moved down to the base of the chair, sliding, grasping – feeling for that seat lever, desperately seeking the ability to move horizontal. When her fingers finally located the solid bar, she pulled firmly and suddenly her body was careening backwards. Her knee came up in response, bumping the glove box, catching the latch and before she knew it papers were spilling out, piling at her feet.

_For crying out loud._

She clambered upward, a little out of sorts, blinking her eyes a couple of times to stifle the head rush, the exhaustion. She felt drunk – drugged almost. A pile of papers had scattered out onto the floor beneath her feet, and she bowed down with a groan in an effort to collect them. Receipts, a small notebook and some opened mail lay dormant at her feet, and it wasn't until she turned an envelope around that she noticed it. A gas bill.

But more specifically.

Mr Elliot Stabler

4B, 87 Hicks Street

BROOKLYN HEIGHTS 11201 NY

She narrowed her eyes. Still unsure what she was looking at and why her partner's name sat above an unfamiliar address. An address in Brooklyn Heights for that matter. An _apartment _in Brooklyn Heights. She looked out the front windshield then, searching wildly for a street sign, markings, anything. When she turned to peer out the drivers seat window that's when she saw it.

_Eighty seven._

The brass, slightly weathered letters beaming back at her. Her eyes shot back to the envelope in her hands.

87.

_Son of a bitch._

Before she had time to process what this meant, the door was suddenly opening and she felt the car bow under Elliot's weight as he slid into the drivers seat.

He was holding a navy blue backpack and he'd changed his shoes in the process. Her hands gripped protectively onto the envelope as she watched him reach over and deposit his belongings into the backseat, his face drawing closer in the process. The eye contact she had so blatantly refused him earlier was now, prominent, full force – unmissable.

When he caught her eye on his retreat the glare she was sporting right now was unmistakable. He just stopped, his eyes narrowing in response. They just stared at each other then, and he didn't look guilty or apologetic. In fact he looked pissed off and defensive - and she could tell by the way his jaw clicked that he was going to press her on it.

"What?" he whispered, almost through gritted teeth and although the volume was low, the defensive tone in his voice caused her whole body to seize up in anger, starting with her jawbone.

_What? WHAT?! _She wanted to scream.

She shook her head and let her eyes drop away for a second, wondering if this was the part where she was going to lose it. She wanted to – damn it she was reeling inside, but her instincts were telling her to swallow it down, stifle the anger. To keep this - whatever the hell it was, buried. Just to allow her enough time to process what this actually meant.

If it even meant anything.

She wasn't sure if her exhaustion was playing a part in this, heightening her internal response or if this actually warranted a reaction. Was Elliot not telling her he'd moved out of his family home, yet again, really that uncalled for? Was it really that surprising?

When she finally moved her eyes back his eyes were practically piercing hers, daring her to speak, to break, to fucking rip him a new one. She could see it in the depths of those blue irises, and his silent encouragement only spurred her on.

Her fingernails dug in the envelope she still held captive, and when he raised his eyebrows almost in mockery she snapped, moving forward and thumping the envelope squarely against his chest.

"Your gas bill's overdue," she rasped, the anger punctuating each word and the shock of her outburst was evident in his features. His palm instinctively came up, slamming against hers in response and she ripped it hastily out from underneath his.

Her heart beat was a heavy thud in her chest and he just stared at her then, the mail still pressed up against his chest. Taking in every second, every wild, erratic emotion that passed across her face. She watched as he drank in the familiarity, swam within it, revealed in the fact that she was breaking in some capacity.

She saw it in his face then. He knew. He fucking knew what she meant, the bill, the address, his marriage. She'd seen it as clear as day in his eyes, the hint of satisfaction that flickered across his face.

She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. If he thinks she gives two shits about his new residence he has another thing coming. He looks smug as all hell now at her unrestrained break, and she feels stupid, ridiculous because she'd told herself not to bite – not to take the bait, and what did she do?

So he moved out. It's not like it's the first time, and it probably won't be the last. It didn't mean he still couldn't knock up his wife again and be right back to square one. But he was reading her like a god-dammed book right now, processing every little niggle, every flinch, every fiber and she was over his assessment, his unspoken interrogation.

She wasn't giving him another inch.

Without another thought she moved her eyeline back to the windscreen. She was done with this conversation, she was done with this argument, she was done with this stand off.

She was just done.

She could feel the heat, the tension, as he watched the side of her face, but she wasn't turning, she wasn't goddamned moving because he had already seen too much, assumed too much and right now, and she was done letting him pry.

She heard him clear his throat and she wondered if he was going to call her on this, press her on her outburst, dig the knife deeper. But instead.

"I think I preferred the silent treatment," he told her sarcastically, before reaching over and stuffing the bill back into the opened glove box compartment and slamming it shut.

He moved back, and it was moments before she heard the key turning and the engine roaring into life.

_Good,_ she thought to herself, her eyes narrowed, starring at the road ahead.

Because from this point forward that's all he was getting.

:::::

They'd been driving for over half an hour down an endless freeway when she heard the indicator and suddenly the car was starting to drift to the right.

They were on the interstate 678S when she saw the exit sign and the bold white letters housed on a green backing flashed across her vision.

**Kennedy Airport **

Her heart started a heavy rhythm against her rib cage. She didn't speak. Because she had made a pact with herself, to him – that she wouldn't, and this was not worthy of breaking that pact.

But she couldn't help it, her eye line was moving on it's own accord until it was sidled right up against his profile, because although she was not going to ask for answers, she was hoping that maybe if she stared at him long enough, he would offer them up.

He knew she was looking at him, but he didn't give her the courtesy of even acknowledging her, let alone an explanation, and she thought she should have known better than to expect anything more.

He continued along the freeway at a fixed pace and she knew they were going above the speed limit but she wasn't going to question it. Instead she just moved her eye line to the window beside her, staring out at all the cars that now seemed to be passing at a frantic rate, hoping – just hoping, that this night, had an end in sight.

:::::

He could feel the tension coming from his right, and it was palpable.

It was not just tension either. It was fear, alarm, mixed with anxiety and concern. He knew all she had to do was ask him. Just say those four words that had been circling her mind since he took that exit.

_Where are we going?_

But she was one incredibly stubborn woman, and so instead she was going to spend the remainder of this car trip assuming their going to Canada, Mexico, Belize – Russia or Botswana for crying out loud. She was probably frantically analyzing the multitude of possibilities that they could be in for. Trying to figure out how to tell him she didn't have her passport or even her wallet for that matter.

The airport was coming up on their right, but only he knew he was heading straight past it, because it was the quickest way to cut through to Long Beach at this time of night and yes, he was a prick for not telling her.

But that's what she gets for not asking.

:::::

They passed the entrance to the airport and she didn't know whether she was breathing a sigh of relief or annoyance.

_What the hell was going on?_

She stretched in her seat, her legs moving out in front of her and as she arched her back against the stiff seat behind her, the seat belt across her chest practically strangled her. She was shifting because she was irritated, frustrated but above all she was fighting the overwhelming urge to just scream -

WHERE THE _FUCK_ ARE WE GOING?

But she didn't. She just drew in a deep breath, before expelling it sharply and shaking her head at nothing in particular. She knew she was one step away from mumbling under her breath like a mad woman, and despite priding herself on not actually uttering a word, it hasn't escaped her that the overzealous dramatics she was putting on were probably far worse than just asking.

But she was on a roll now, a mind-numbing, senseless roll that she intended to ride out until the bitter end.

:::::

They had been driving for over an hour when he finally pulled into the street.

He had only been here a handful of times and he only remembered two things, it being a few streets after the exit and the house being on the beachfront. When he caught water rippling under the moonlight in between the rows of mansions he knew they were in the right place.

He was watching her out of the corner of his eye and she was following his line of sight, scanning the beautiful houses and he could almost hear her mind ticking over.

He saw the house up ahead and it was unmistakable in all it's heightening glory. He sucked in a breath as his hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning a whiter shade of pale.

There was street parking right out the front but he drove a few houses down to lessen the chance of his car being recognized. When he finally came to a stop, he switched off the engine, clicked off his seat belt and he wasted no time reaching for the bag in the back.

He could feel her eyes on him already and this was the part where he was going to have to tell her as little as possible and still expect her to comply.

He bid some time, ignoring her penetrating gaze a little longer by pulling out a rectangular black satchel and a small flashlight from the backpack. He felt her eyes on the satchel but he ignored her loaded question, and shoved it deep into his front pocket. He drew in a heavy breath before his eyes flicked to hers and he finally met her stare.

"Liv," he whispered, his voice feeling as rough as sandpaper, and even he was afraid of how this conversation was going to go, but he just needed to say it. Rip it. Like a Band-Aid.

"I need you to stay here," he told her firmly.

That was it, that was all he needed her to do. Stay here. Yet even as he said it, he in no way, shape or form believed it was actually going to happen and he was kicking himself already because he knew he should have worded it differently. Her eyebrows were already furrowing and she was shaking her head again and he knew he was dealing with a matter of seconds.

"Liv _please_," he rasped quickly before she had a chance to rebut and he couldn't believe he had just begged her, but that was what it has come down to. He would do anything. He just needed her to stay in the car.

"Ok?" he whispered again, his voice a notch lower so she realized the severity, or at least humored him but it was too late. He saw the anger imbedded in her eyes at being left in the dark for far too long, and he knew his luck had well and truly run out.

"This his house?" she asked, her voice deep and somewhat horse but he ignored her question, because the less she knew the better.

"Just.. let me fix this," he whispered. Because he knew it was his fault, his cause, his cross to bear.

"I'm coming with you," she told him directly raising her eyebrows, as if he was insane to think otherwise and he watched her for heated moments until he finally moved his eye line back to the windscreen ahead and stared straight ahead.

He scrubbed a hand down his face because he thought he had gotten through to her, but he was a fool to think that after everything that's happened tonight, that she'd actually reason with him on this.

The beats of silence continued to tick over until his eyes finally moved back to hers. Then with all the seriousness he could muster he switched gears, offering up the one line he thought might be his saving grace.

"I just need you to trust me on this," he whispered, and yes, he went there. That word, almost always guaranteed to trump all others. A tangible godsend reserved only for times where he was in desperate need of level headed, rational, acceptance.

_If you can't trust your partner, Elliot, it's time to get a new one._

Her words from a life time ago circled his mind, and he hoped she could see them imbedded in the dept of his eyes. He waited anxiously, for her response because he knew this could go either way, and it was long, agonizing moments until she finally ripped her eyes away from his with a look of fury he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. She exhaled heavily into the space in front of her and raised her hand in clear dismissal, like she was done, like she was over it and the gesture she'd just given him might as well have been:

"_Just get the hell out."_

But he took it, before she had a chance to change her mind, and before he had a chance to change his.

:::::

It had been fifteen minutes.

Fifteen _damn _minutes. Since she watched through the rearview mirror as Elliot scaled the automatic gate and disappeared over the other side.

She should have been worried, but she was just livid. Her whole body felt like it was constricting from within, and her jaw muscles were already aching from the strain of being fixed in place the moment she got into this god-forsaken car.

She's going to go in there. She knows it. He knows it. The fact that she had lasted this long should not only be commended, but recorded in a history book somewhere because each minute had been just as agonizing as the last.

Her hand moved to the door handle and as her fingers grasped the lever, moments from pulling it open, she heard it.

_I need you to trust me on this. _

It should have been enough to deter her, to reiterate her role tonight, their unspoken agreement. But all she fixated on is,_ I need you. _And not under an emotional pretext, but in the demanding sense.

In other words; _I need you to trust me on this, but I'm not going to give you any insight into what's actually happening. The history, the severity, the risks, the timeline, the plan, the agenda. Yes I know you're my partner, we're equals, we're bound by mutual reliance and dependence, but that doesn't mean I'm going to tell you who Marshall is, why he called me when he cuffed you to your bed, and I'm certainly not going explain why I failed to tell you I've been residing in Brooklyn Heights for the past 3 months, despite the fact that we've worked a multitude of late nights and stakeouts where instead I've offered up in-depth details about my children's recent scholastic achievements, yet kept you completely in the dark regarding the demise of my marriage. Instead, I just need you to sit here and wait for me to handle this and trust me on this ok. Oh and if you think I'm telling you what's in that tiny black satchel you've got another thing coming._

She was livid. How the hell could he expect her to just sit here and trust him when his every action tonight contradicted that very term. He had trusted her with nothing tonight. Not a thing. Instead he just managed to intricately extract as much information as possible without offering up a thing. She felt the pin pricks and it hit her like a fist to the gut, because he completely manipulated the situation tonight, taken charge and left her here without so much as cracking a window.

_Your viewpoint will always be partial._

She moved forward then, and slammed her feet against the dash of the car and let out a harrowing guttural noise followed by a –

"Fucking, fuck!"

She was losing it. She really was. But she couldn't anymore. _She_ - _just_ - _couldn't_.

Her hand moved with urgency, grasping the door handle and just as she went to push the door open, headlights rounded the corner bouncing off the side mirror and straight into her eyes. She squinted against the light, freezing momentarily, holding the partially opened door as she impatiently waited for the car to continue down the street and pass her.

It didn't.

It slowed to a stop just behind her and her heart beat should have been kicking into overdrive at the possibilities but all she felt was anger and a severe lack of patience. Her eyes moved to the rearview mirror but she couldn't make out the driver in the blinding light, but one thing was for sure - if they didn't move their carin the next 5 seconds she was going to make them.

Then she saw it, the automatic door Elliot had scaled earlier - opening. The large white barricade moved inward and the car was no longer blinding her with light as it moved into the drive way.

_Son of a bitch._

Her mind ticked over then, she had split seconds to decide her course of action because she knew she only had moments. She moved, and it was lightening speed, she pushed open the door, jumped out of the car, slammed it shut and ran for the gate.

She saw it already starting to close and her stomach dropped, because she knew if she missed it, it was unlikely she'd have the same upper body strength required to scale to the top. She saw the small space she needed to run through slowly getting smaller, and she knew it was going to be exceptionally close.

Her mind was telling her she wasn't going to make it, but her body was refusing to listen. She mounted the sidewalk, and it was one, two, three steps before her body slipped through the crack. The side of the gate clipped her left arm and she yanked it clear before her shoes slipped on damp leaves and suddenly she was falling onto the tiled ground. The impact rattled her momentarily, her knees scuffed beneath her jeans and her hands grazed but she was up in a matter of seconds. She jutted behind the pillar to give her a chance to catch her breath, and waited for him to head inside.

_Fuck._

The footsteps started towards the front door and she knew it was now or never. She raced as quietly as her feet would allow until she rounded the car and came up behind him.

She drew her weapon, until it was in line with the back of his head and her heart was a heavy thud because she knew she could be compromising everything in this very moment. She was surprised he hadn't heard or sensed her presence, but she took no chances and moved in closer.

"Don't move," she rasped, and pressed the barrel up between his shoulder blades so he knew she was serious. Both hands were saddled around the gun, her finger loosely fingering the trigger – almost daring him to _fucking_ try her.

She watched his body tense, straightening beneath the gun and it appeared that he was complying with her command.

"Hands where I can see them," she whispered.

He raised them slowly until they were shoulder height, and she swallowed before she moved in pushing him roughly up against the door with her free hand. With his palms flattened against the door, she moved her hands down his sides in search of a weapon. She patted the edge of his jacket until they reached his hip, and ran across the perimeter of his belt, searching, moving, across his back, finding no cuffs, no weapons, no nothing.

She moved in closer, to his front pockets, her hands running over contents, coins she thought, keys maybe, but no weapons. Her body had drawn closer to his in the process, the barrel of the gun still pressed firmly into his lower back before she finally took a step back.

She saw him visibly let out the breath he was holding upon her retreat.

"Don't do anything stupid Olivia," he told her, and the familiar way in which he spoke to her sent chills down her spine because she shared no connection with this man before tonight.

"Open the door," she told him quietly, not falling for his efforts to soften her because she was on a war path and this anger she was retaining was just about the only thing that would get her through tonight.

"Oliv-"

"Now," she rasped cutting him off, digging the barrel of the gun a little deeper into his side, because they weren't going to do this outside in the middle of a suburban street.

That worked, that propelled him forward and his hand reached for the keys already dangling from the keyhole. When he opened the door, she pushed him through the threshold, and led him up the few stairs until they reached the living room which boarded the kitchen.

"Turn around," she told him quietly. "Slowly."

He did so and when their eyes connected, she kept her gaze steady, fixed, but she wasn't sure how to take his sudden compliance. She had expected him to be far more aggravated, belligerent, difficult – and she'd been ready for that. For a fight. But he was just looking at her somewhat seemly concerned at the lengths she might take this.

"Where is it?" she whispered slowly, her eyes desperate to move off his and onto the surfaces of his kitchen bench and coffee table to see if she could spy the familiar manila folder.

"Where's what?" he asked her and if he was playing coy he had about five seconds to drop the act because her patience dissipated the moment her partnertold her to trust him.

"The file," she rasped, her fingers stiffening against the trigger. "The Lindbrook file Marshall, where is it?"

His eyes flickered at the use of his name and his lips turned slightly upward. She knew it was to her detriment because it was clear it wasn't her memory that would have triggered the use, it was her partner. Marshall's eyes left hers then and moved behind her to the entrance to what she assumed was a bedroom, before they came slowly back to hers.

"Where is he?" he countered his voice taking on a mischievous tone, and she blinked, once, twice, before she dismissed his question entirely.

"I'm not going to ask you again," she rasped.

"Lower the weapon," he told her gently, and he took a step towards her, trying to ease her down with hand gestures but it only fired her up.

"One more step Marshall," she warned and he stopped in his place, raising his hands in defence.

"Liv, I wasn't going to hurt you," he whispered and her eyebrows narrowed in response to her nickname, to his bizarre confession. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to ease her in a false sense of security before he'd make his move. She'd played that game before, and she was done.

"I was just doing my job," he whispered, "please Liv, just put down the gun and we'll talk. I'll explain everything."

She just wanted to scream - _I don't even know you!_ Instead she just scoffed, laughed in response because this guy had to be kidding her.

"You're full of it Marshall. I don't want to talk, I don't want an explanation, I just want the file and then I'm leaving," she told him firmly, slowly so he could understand point blank what she was there for.

"And what if I don't?" he told her shaking his head. "You're going to shoot me? How do you think you're going to explain that one to your Captain? I don't think Don's going to take something like that very lightly."

Her mouth was running dry, he knew her Captain.

"Where's your partner?" he repeated, stepping closer and when her lower back came into contact with the kitchen counter she realized she was subconsciously recreating the distance Marshall seemed intent on removing.

Her hands remained steady, the barrel aimed directly at his chest, knowing she still had the power within her hands, and no amount of intimidation was going to change that.

"You're not going to shoot me," he whispered, "I'm not a rapist, or a murderer, or a criminal," he told her, his steps getting closer and closer.

"I will," she mouthed, her hands shaking in her grasp but it was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she realized that despite being armed, she wouldn't. Not when she was that ill equip to make the decision, not when she didn't have all the facts. Not when he had drip feed her tidbits of information, referencing her life, her coworkers, her _captain._

She would kill to save a victim, to save her partner, but she wouldn't take someone's life to save her job. It was when he took the few remaining steps towards her that he'd read the truth she'd been so desperately trying to conceal and the balance of power shifted between them immediately.

He was on her in a matter of seconds, grasping her wrists quickly moving the gun up to the roof, pushing her body further into the kitchen counter until a noise of exertion left her throat. His hands were like a vice around her wrists and it was a tug of war for the weapon she was still desperately gripping onto. He was using his body as a cage, she had nowhere to go, and he was practically bending her backwards over the tabletop. The edge of the counter dug into her spine and she moaned her distress as she tried her best not to let him overpower her. It took everything within her to twist, but she did it, turning beneath him, gasping heavily when she ended up facing the counter.

His body caged hers from behind but it wasn't enough leverage to push back into him, slip a hand from her weapon and elbow him in the side. She just needed to summon the energy. He still had a powerful grip on her wrists, and the full weight of his body was pressing her into the counter.

She took one sharp, steady, deep breath before she moved her body forcibly backward, her ass slammed into his crotch and it rocked him at first, but he recovered quickly ramming her back into the counter. She felt his mouth behind her ear, his nose buried in her hair and he exhaled heavily into her locks.

"Christ Olivia, this how you like it?" he whispered and a shiver ran up her spine at the words. The intent. The off the hand comment that pierced far deeper than he would have expected but it was the flame that ignited the wick and it was all she needed to set off her explosion.

"Get off me," she seethed, and her words were muffled by the counter below her and she wanted this. To take him. She still had her hands wrapped solidly around her weapon and she was not giving it up without a fight. She felt his mouth slip from the back of her head until his lips skimmed across the skin of her neck. Her heart beat was a steady thump against the counter.

"He do you from behind?" he whispered, and it was the final straw. The final break within her. Her hand slipped from beneath his grip, until her elbow shot backward, slamming forcibly into his ribs. His cry was loud and pierced her ears, mirroring the plain that had shattered through her elbow but she was running on adrenaline. He didn't release his grip on her wrist holding the weapon but he moved backward slightly, giving her enough room to launch up and knock him backwards.

Her foot moved behind his ankle in an attempt to trip him and it worked. He was falling but she didn't even have time to catch her breath before her body followed suit. He still had his grip locked on her wrists as she came crashing down, and it was a few disorientating seconds before he'd rolled her onto her back and moved on top of her.

A noise expelled from her throat as he used his body weight to press her into the floor, all the air leaving her lungs instantly. He grasped her wrist that clung to her weapon and started to slam it roughly, repeatedly against the kitchen tiles. The sound of metal against marble filled her ears, her fingers ached, bruised as she clung desperately to her only lifeline. When he finally managed to pry the weapon from her bruised hands she let out a strained yell in defeat and her eyes pricked with moisture as the barrel dug into the bare skin at her waist where her hoodie had risen.

Her mouth clamped shut in an effort to muffle her sobs because there were parallels from earlier in the night with Elliot – on top of her, pinning her down. Smothering the air from her lungs but this is poles apart, because she knew the man above her didn't care what happened to her tonight. There was no compassion and no agenda - except for his.

His mouth was inches from her ear and she could hear him trying to reign in his own breathing, but it was hers she knew she wasn't likely to catch. Her lungs barely filled with each gasp and her eyes were clamped shut now too because she didn't want to commit this image to memory.

"Where is he?" he rasped, his voice instantly a notch lower and a flood of anxiety shot through her at the new tone he'd adopted, only reiterating that everything he'd said up until then was just an act. She was stupid, _fucking_ stupid, for not trusting her instincts and letting her guard down.

He was waiting for her answer but she could barely breathe let alone speak.

"You know breaking and entering is a serious crime, Olivia," he told her, his words washing over her ears but all she was concentrating on was the pins and needles rapidly developing in her arms and legs. He pressed the weapon a little firmer into her side and a stifled noise came out before his body weight quenched it.

"I have every right to shoot him," his lips scaled the side of her neck and she closed her eyes, trying to shrink away from his advances. "And you."

She wanted to tell him to do it. To shoot her. Because she couldn't anymore. With this night, with this case, with her job, with Elliot - but she couldn't move her mouth, her body or utilize her vocal chords even if she wanted to. All she could think was that Elliot was in this house somewhere, most likely listening and watching every single second.

It was just time she needed to give him, for him to get the better of this situation, the upper hand, but the bittersweet realization was, it was time she was rapidly losing. She was no longer drawing in breaths and the words that came from the body above her sounded like they were being whispered to her through a broken telephone line.

_Olivia, where is he?_

She felt dizzy, lightheaded, achy - distant. She wanted to call for Elliot. She wanted to scream his name with all the exertion she could muster. Tell him to get this son of a bitch off her. But she didn't. She just thought it, tasted it, breathed it, and craved it, before the light above her seeped into darkness and the muscles in her body finally released their ache.

:::::

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

Holy-Shitting-Shit! I never thought this day would come!

I'M SO SORRRRRRRRRY FOR THE WAIT!

Merry New Year!

xx

P.S. This is pretty much a soap opera now.

:::::

A thud.

That's all she hears before it starts to register.

Her eyes snap open when she feels him start to lift off her, her lungs filling with air immediately.

"Get up," she hears him whisper, the barrel of the gun no longer pressing at her waist but aimed at her face. "Now." He tells her with urgency, but she's still slow. Uneasy. Lightheaded.

She wants to tell him to give her a minute but she feels the pull on her elbow before she has a chance and he's dragging her into a sitting position before pulling her to her feet.

"Jesus-" she chokes out, grabbing onto his forearm for stability, knocking roughly into his side in the process. He's tugging her towards the bedroom and she tries not to lose her footing in his pursuit.

She takes a few steps to correct herself before she finally manages to stand on her own. The barrel of the gun is still aimed at her face so she holds up her hands in gesture of compliance. She is desperate to ask what he is doing - where he intends on taking her, but she's soon given her answer when both his eyes and his gun motion towards the bedroom door and his mouth is urging at her to _move. _

She turns around slowly and makes her way towards the bedroom, trying to process just what the hell he plans on doing. When she walks through the threshold she sees the bed, the side table and the breathtaking view of the ocean through the glass doors. The screen door is part way open and she turns to find him storming towards it, slamming it shut before his eyes move to wooden slits that line the closet door.

She assumes he is going to head towards it but he stops short when he reaches her, his eyes still trained on the closet as his hand encircles her upper arm. She feels him encroach on her space, tugging her a step closer to him and suddenly her heart is thumping anxiously in her chest because she knows something is off.

"Kiss me," he whispers so quietly she isn't actually sure she heard it right.

When she turns to give him a quizzical look, he drags his eyes away from the closet door to meet with hers. She swallows when her eyes lock onto the unfamiliar blue.

Her mouth opens to question just what the hell he is thinking when she feels the barrel of the gun dig into her hip. Her heart thuds against her ribcage. She tries to calm down. All he's asked for is a kiss. He could have taken far more than that back at her apartment. She can do this.

Her eyes flick between the pools of blue and the curve of his lips before she leans in. She's tentative, cautious and the moment her lips are mere millimeters away he pulls her in, his mouth pressing firmly against hers. She makes a noise of protest, but he is too strong, too forceful and she can still feel the barrel of the gun insistent against her waist. One wrong move and it could go off.

He moves her body backwards and she steps back unwillingly before he opens her mouth with his. She closes her eyes, her back colliding with the wall behind them when she feels his tongue slide between her lips. It's an internal cringe, but an external acceptance. She will play his game if it means she can gain control of the situation. His lips are swollen and are tugging hers with conviction.

_Jesus Christ, what is he doing?_

She swallows, as he feels his thigh push between her jeans and she knows she has two ways of dealing with this. Deception or confrontation. She can either go along with his game until she gets one over him or she can tell him to get the fuck off her. She opens her eyes as he continues to suck on her lower lip and when she ascertains his eyes are closed, it seals the deal for her.

_Deception it is. _

She feels his free hand slide up the side of her torso until it grasps her cheek and she holds her breath when she feels his mouth slide from her mouth to her ear.

"Like you mean it Olivia," he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of ear and her stomach drops because she isn't sure she has it in her. Her heart is a solid thump in her chest but she knows she can do this. Without another thought she moves her mouth towards his, capturing his lips, moving a hand behind his head pulling him further against her.

She opens her mouth, capturing his top lip before sucking. He moans against her mouth before pulling away, letting his forehead crash against hers. "You wanted me in that cab," he rasps and she lets her eyes drift to a close, summoning up the energy to do this. To make this believable. But she's dwindling. Elliot, where the hell are you? She's pictures Elliot then, his mouth, his hands, his body pressing her up against this wall and somehow she manages to persevere.

With her eyes closed tight she moves in, capturing his lips, both hands holding his cheeks as she opens her mouth letting her tongue slide between his lips. She feels him moan in response before he presses himself between her legs. Elliot. She thinks. Elliot between her legs. She smoothes her thigh over the bulge of his crotch before she feels the barrel at her waist slip downward, before he quickly corrects it.

_Jackpot._

"Put it down Marshall," she whispers against his mouth before sliding her tongue into meet with his. She lets a hand slide down the front of his chest until it's moves between their bodies, latching onto his belt buckle. "Now," she breathes against his mouth, sounding breathless, urgent – aching.

She feels his smile widen against her mouth before the barrel of the gun slips up from her waist and to her temple. The tables turn suddenly and her eyes snap open, freezing mid kiss. He pulls his lips from hers with a slick pop before he let the scoff expel against her face.

"Oh you're good," he tells her with a sarcastic grin, his crotch still pinning her against the wall. "He told me you were good, but this," he indicates her performance by waving around his pistol hapharzardly, "is practically Oscar worthy."

Her eyes narrow then with a dark glare, a violent storm beginning to churn in the depths of her gut. "Fuck.. you," she whispers slowly, her eyes darting between the blue and he rocks his semi between her legs in response.

"Again?" he whispers and she swallows, her fingers flexing with the need to smack the son of a bitch._ What is he doing? _He lifts himself off her then and uses his hand to swipe his lower lip with his fingers, still eying the carnage he'd just caused to her mouth.

"Tell your partner he can come out now," he whispers and her eyes move over to the cupboard door. The thud from earlier. A slice of anxiety slides through her body. This was a set up, Elliot saw the kiss. It looked like she initiated it, encouraged it even._ Jesus._ It's ok, Elliot has to have known it was a set up.

When she does nothing but fix her gaze uneasily upon the slits in the cupboard, it's out of the corner of her eyes that she sees it. Marshall's right hand moving purposefully until the barrel of his gun lines up with the cupboard and there is no hesitation. The gunshot rips through the slits and she propels her body into his, slamming him into the bedside table, retching his arm away from the cupboard.

But she looses her footing in the struggle, falling against him uneasily in her pursuit of the gun, and his arm slips around her waist before she knows it. She feels his crotch press firmly against her ass and he has her in a seatbelt lock from behind. His forearm pressed forcibly against her breasts, his hand grasping her shoulder. She's lost access to one arm and the other has nowhere to go.

"You son of a bitch," she rasps against him, and it's seconds before the cool metal presses against her temple.

"You've got three seconds Stabler," he rasps angrily. "One.. two.. th-"

She clamps her eyes shut when she hears the boom from behind them and Marshall swings them around to see Elliot emerging from the ensuite, gun poised directly at Marshall's face.

"Drop it Reed," Elliot rasps but all she feels is his hold tighten against her chest, and the metal pressing harder against her temple.

"Ladies first," Marshall quips with a snide edge.

"Don't be a dick Marshall, drop the gun."

"Not a chance," Marshall returns.

"So what what's the plan? You're going to kill two cops?" Elliot keeps his eyes trained directly on Marshall as Olivia struggles to deliver air into her lungs.

"That's up to you – as I told your girlfriend here, I'd have you both on breaking and entering," Marshall confirms.

Olivia swallows, desperately trying to obtain Elliot's eye contact.

"Two detectives in your house, it doesn't look good. Think about this, it's hardly open and shut," Elliot pushes not removing his eye-line from Marshall's for a second.

"Well I'd say I have the upper hand right now wouldn't you agree?" he snickers, pressing the barrel of the gun further against Olivia's temple causing her to flinch uncomfortably.

"Ok," Elliot releases the aim and holds up his hands, "you want control Marshall. You got it." He says changing gears, tossing the gun onto the mattress beside them.

As the metal bobs lightly on the bed she feels the pressure against her chest let up only slightly at the sight of Elliot's submission. She notices Elliot's still withholding eye contact.

"So what now Marshall, balls in your court," he says throwing his hands up in frustration.

She feels the tension behind her radiating through her body. His fingers splay against her stomach and then it's slow and methodical when the voice behind her speaks.

"How much does she know?"

Elliot's eyes drop then, immediately down to hers and she watches the tension ripple through his jawline. Her heart starts to thump in overdrive because the look on Elliot's face boarders on unrecognizable.

_Jesus Elliot, what have you done?_

Elliot's eyes lift once more, returning to Marshall before furrowing in distaste.

"She knows your scum Marshall, that's all she needs to know," he warns.

"Scum?" she feels the small burst of laughter ripple across his chest. "She just had her tongue down my throat Stabler," he reiterates in jest.

She closes her eyes, desperate to defend herself but knowing she will just have to take this.

"While trying to take off my pants I might add." he continues shaking his head. "Seems the woman can't get enough," he whispers suggestively, his chin dropping softly onto the crown of her head.

Her eyes slip open then, just in time to catch Elliot's eyeline moving down to hers and a pang of guilt rocks into her.

"Tell him Olivia," Marshall presses and suddenly she feels nauseous because she knows what's coming. "How you straddled me in that cab," he whispers. "The kitchen counter.. your bed. Tell him how badly you wanted it," he practically moans into her ear. "Then asking me to cuff you to the bed, I mean - _damn _Stabler, who would have thought a sex crimes cop would like it rough? Although I'm sure you worked that out for yourself didn't you. Tell me something, did you enjoy the present I left for you?"

"What do you want Marshall?" Elliot rasps, disregarding his spiel completely.

A small puff of air expels into the back of her hair when he laughs unexpectedly.

"Well some appreciation would be nice," he says slowly and she watches the confusion flicker in Elliot's eyes. "I mean isn't that what you always wanted? Your partner stripped down, flat on her back, tied up and ready for you?"

Olivia bites into her lip closing her eyes, an indefinable pang rocking into her. She can barely breathe.

"Christ and it wasn't even your birthday," Marshall continues. "The amount of times you used to go on and _on_ about her," he muses as if recalling the most mundane memory. "You would never have known you had a family at home. A _wife_," he makes a point to specify.

Her eyes snap open then because it's only just hit her. _Kathy._ He moved out yes. But she still exists. She is still and always will be an intricate part of his life. With that in mind an overwhelming sense of guilt floods through her body. Elliot's eyes fall down to hers reading the internal panic that's suddenly taken over and reacts immediately.

"Liv, don't listen to this, he's full of sh-"

"Shit?" Marshall finishes off, "You're swimming in it Stabler. The late nights, the stakeouts, her ass, God you could have written a novel about her ass, and I had to just sit there and listen to every god damn word-"

"Stop it," Elliot seethes stepping forward and Olivia feels the tension escalate suddenly. "Just stop," Elliot whispers and she sees the way his hands are starting to tremble just slightly.

"El," she whispers, her voice cracking slightly, but she needs him to calm down because she's seen that look in his eyes before and this isn't going to end well. "Just relax ok, I'm not buying any of this," she tries but it's no use, he's purposefully avoiding eye contact again when all she just needs one second of contact to reassure him.

Marshall scoffs, "For a detective Olivia, you're not exactly clued in, this guys had a hard-on for you since day one!"

"One more word Marshall," Elliot warns.

"And what? You've got nothing Stabler, you've just go to stand there and take this," he practically yells.

The room suddenly falls into a heated silence and Olivia feels the tension escalate with each heartbeat that hammers against her back. She closes her eyes once more before she manages to conjure up some inner strength. She needs to put an end to this once and for all because the way these two are escalating, she knows she doesn't have long.

"What did he do to you Marshall?" Olivia stares directly at Elliot when she says it and suddenly the air in the room becomes thick and hard to swallow.

A quiet moment passes between all three of them before Marshall finally responds.

"What did he do?" he repeats a little taken aback and she can feel the way he's stiffened against her suddenly, his hand frozen against her stomach.

"It must have been something pretty unthinkable, either that or you have a single, white, female complex for my partner. So which is it?" she spits, losing her tolerance for him by the minute.

"Single, white what…" Marshall rasps in annoyance.

"Whatever it is," Olivia sighs, "it needs to end tonight-"

"You really want to know?" Marshall cuts her off roughly. "He slept with my girlfriend Olivia," he finally reveals and as she attempts to digest the words all she feels is an overwhelming sense of confusion, like he must have his facts wrong.

_Marshall's girlfriend? _

Her eyes move up to Elliot's for some sort of explanation or reassurance that this is yet another example of his verbal diarrhea. But when all she sees is an underlining sense of guilt and admission, her stomach spirals at this new found information.

"Your girlfriend?" she questions quietly and she tries not to let the accusation infiltrate her tone.

"Yes, slept with her, knocked her up and married her. Unthinkable enough for you?" he whispers.

_Wow._

She watches Elliot close his eyes and turn away and she has no idea what to do with this new turn of events. _Kathy. _

_Kathy and Marshall. _

_Kathy and Elliot._

"You went to high school together," Olivia whispers, piecing it together slowly.

"Ding - ding - ding. Then Collage, then the Marines, then the force. It wasn't until recently that I jumped the fence to the feds but Elliot still made time to catch up with me, to you know – to check in. Guess that the thing about guilt. Never truly disappears does it Elliot?"

Olivia's heart rate finally begins to settle somewhat with his explanation. This is ok, she justifies. It happened in high school. It wasn't some recent, marital indiscretion. They were just kids. It's ancient history. But she also realizes that taking Marshall's side in this instance would be the wise thing to do.

"I get it," Olivia attempts to sympathize, "I understand he hurt you."

"Stop Olivia, just stop," Elliot cuts her off shaking his head before his eyes move up to Marshalls. "You went on two dates Marshall and it was high school," he spits back. "And now this is your warped idea of revenge? Taking advantage of my partner? Tarnishing her career? Threatening her life? How the hell is that an eye for an eye?" Elliot starts to step forward.

"Close enough," Marshall shrugs and she expects Elliot to stop at a point but he's moving in closer and closer, until his chest practically makes contact with hers.

_Stop Elliot, _she anger is only going to make this worse. You need to sympathize with Marshall, not rile him up.

She wants to warm him with her fingertips, to let him know that she's got this. She wants him to let her take control here. She can defuse the situation if he just lets her. But he's so close she can't seem to take a breath let alone move.

"Back up Stabler," Marshall warns and she swallows closing her eyes because between the barrel of the gun and the proximity of Elliot and Marshall, this is all becoming too much.

"Alright Marshall," Elliot tells him slowly. "You've made your point," he acknowledges, letting out a long, weighted breath that skims across her face. "You win."

_Yes Elliot,_ she thinks, _yes you're finally getting it_. She'd caught it within his words, the calmness of his tone, the admission, the dust finally settling. He's finally surrendering.

"This is between you and me," Elliot continues, and his manner seems methodical now, soothing - almost like he's moved gradually into hostage negotiation mode.

_Nice,_ Olivia thinks, _this is perfect._ And when she feels Elliot step back a little giving them all some breathing space she finally lets out the breath she was holding.

"Liv is going to leave now alright, and we're going to finish this Marshall, just you and I," Elliot tells him slowly and Olivia's eyes move just in time to capture the softness that's so reassuringly entered his.

She feels Marshall exhale sternly and she's silently willing him to just comply, to just relent, to end this for the sake of them all but she can tell by the stiffness in his body that they aren't out of the woods just yet.

"We _fucked_ you know," he muses quietly. "Liv and I.."

The statement settles between the three of them for a few strained beats as they all seem to decide what to do with it.

But she doesn't feel the need to fight it this time. Or even flinch for that matter. Because she can sense this new calmer version of Elliot is in control now and she rests wholeheartedly on her trust in him.

"How does that feel to know the woman that keeps you up at night slept with me? Chose me?" Marshall continues his weak attempt to bait Elliot but the crack in his voice said it all.

Olivia relaxes inwardly when she feels it having little effect, that it's just his attempt at hurting Elliot, drawing historic correlations between Kathy and herself.

"It hurts," Elliot speaks quietly and she hears the waver in his voice but it's just for show she thinks. _Yes Elliot_. "It hurts like hell," he whispers and his eye line drops to hers for a small, indefinable moment where for a second she questions whether it holds tangible meaning.

"I can't change the past Marshall, but I can apologize for hurting you," he confesses, his hands rising slightly in a gesture of both surrender and admission. "Please, just let Liv leave, and we'll talk. We'll talk about all of this."

She feels the decision to release her mulling from behind and it's moments before the hold on her chest relents slightly as if he's slowly losing fight. It seems like ages before his hand finally drops from her body completely and she's so calm in this space that she continues to stand there, untouched – unhindered, with only unspoken tension flitting between her and the two men.

When she doesn't make motions to move, she feels it, Marshall prodding her with one hand, pushing her until she steps forward, bumping softly into Elliot's chest.

"Go," she hears Marshall whisper from behind. "Leave," he says tiredly.

And she swallows. Torn between the need to remove herself from this situation and the anxiety of leaving her partner within it. As her eyes slide up to meet Elliot's for confirmation her stomach spirals with discomfort as he slowly mouths,

'_Go.'_

She knows logically he's got this. That this is cross to bear and she should never have pushed herself in this situation, in this house. He had made it perfectly clear all he needed from her was to stay in the car tonight and the disappointment in herself swarms.

She understands now, how detrimental her presence has been tonight.

With that shame in mind she takes one long, weighted breath before bowing her head in submission. And as she walks through the threshold, she carries with her the trust she has that he'll grant this ordeal with the much-needed resolution it requires.

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

_Your reviews are freaking hilarious guys. More f**k yous than I could poke a stick at! But hey - I deserved every one of them. Keep em coming xx_

:::

She sits in the confines of Elliot's car worrying her lower lip.

_He's got this_. She thinks. _He knows what he is doing. _There is nothing to worry about._ Nothing._

Yet there is this indefinable, unsettling feeling, imbedded in the pit of her chest that won't relent until he is in the car, sitting beside her. Safe. Sound.

Secure.

She knows until that moment, it's merely a waiting game. All she has now is an indefinable segment of time solely alone with her thoughts on how this will end.

And there is trepidation. That she can't avoid, if it were any other case she wouldn't be so uncertain. But this is different. This is personal. And if it wasn't for the unpredictable nature of their emotional connection she might have taken some solace in the outcome.

That's the differentiating factor driving this. _Emotions_. And if she's brutally honest, as much trust and faith that she has in her partner's ability to defuse this, a part of her is waiting for it. That gunshot. That loud, impending arrow through her heart that will send her mind careening and her stomach plummeting as she races in blind panic towards the house.

Her fingers almost flex in preparation for the door handle.

_Stop it Olivia. He's got this. You know he does. _

She'd seen the look in his eyes. The one she hadn't seen or felt for light-years it seemed. Before Oregon. Before Porter. Before Gitano. It felt like their beginning, old times. Like they'd revered back to basics in a matter of seconds with just one look. Who knew it would take this bizarre turn of events to bring them full circle.

She eased back into the chair. The state she was in felt foreign, almost nostalgic. This unconditional faith she now had in her partner. This is what trust must feel like she thinks. This is what it must feel like to rely on someone so heavily, with no safety net, no back up, no plan B. Nothing but blind faith and irrefutable hope.

She'd spent the better part of her life blocking all facets of her being from this exposure and yet somehow he'd managed to infiltrate. And it's now, alone in the quiet confines of the car that she realizes it's the first time in her adult life that the mere thought isn't terrifying.

She takes a deep breath, letting that revelation digest as her eyes slip closed for one, unfamiliar moment.

Then she hears it. A mechanical whirring noise and her eyes snap open again, flitting straight to the rearview mirror. She catches the sight of Marshall's electric gate slowly opening and she straightens in her seat. Her heartbeat starts it's familiar thrum and suddenly she is overcome with an intense need for reassurance.

_God._

_Please be him. _

_Please be him. _

_Please be him. _

Her mind recites the plea over and over until the familiar outline of her partner's body finally emerges from the gate. She lets out the stoic breath she was holding and twists around in her seat, capturing the image of him heading towards the car as if his mere reflection wasn't enough to assure her.

Her eyes follow his pursuit towards the driver's door but it's the sound of the handle opening that causes her eyes to flick back to the windscreen.

She doesn't want to look. She doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to see her answer in his eyes. She just wants to submerge herself in a vast pool of ignorant bliss for before she faces her fate.

The car bows beneath his weight as he pulls the door closed and her fingers curl around the lip of the seat as she braces herself.

Her eyes don't move from the parked car in front of them and she expects to feel the heat of his gaze but instead his eyeline mimics hers, staring blindly ahead at the car in front of them.

She swallows in an air of confusion. She'd expected anger, tension, distress rippling through his fists as they clenched in fury against his thighs. She expected bruises, some rough edges, perhaps even some blood. She'd expected him to lash out, to turn the ignition over and grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. She expected bitter words, laden curses and chaotic fireworks.

But instead.

She just feels stillness. Radiating from her partners chest, thrumming through her own, filling every pore, every muscle, every crevice with ease. With resolution. With finality.

_Could it be?_ Her eyebrows furrowed in skepticism. _Could this really be over? Just like that.._

She notices his shoulders hang easily, limply now, not hunched or tense and she swallows back the disbelief. She still doesn't want her answer, she still doesn't want confirmation. She just wants to sit here and enjoy the way her partners presence now seems to be bringing her great comfort.

After a few beats pass between them she hears some rustling before something gently scrapes across her knuckles.

Her eyes fall down and as she drinks in the manila her stomach spirals with imminent relief.

_How did he -_

"He's not going to talk," his voice breaks through the silence, answering her lingering question and it's instant; the weight that had rendered her immobile the moment those cuffs had locked into place lifted immediately.

_Jesus Christ. _She breathes out.

Her eyes drift close in relief as her head sinks back into the head-rest. It's over, she thinks. Marshall. The Mayor. The File. The Case.

_Thank God._

She squeezes her eyes shut, tears welling beneath her lids, a thickness in her throat surmounting as the emotion takes over. She takes a ragged breath, her fingers curling protectively around the cardboard, feeling the tangibility of overwhelming relief between the pads of her fingers.

She doesn't ask how. She doesn't want to know. The relief is suddenly spilling openly from within. All that panic. All that worry. All for nothing. Elliot had for all intensive purposes just waved a magic wand. The case is protected. Her job is secure. Her reputation is untarnished. Their partnership is intact. This night for all intensive purposes might never happened.

She is going to hug him she realizes. Or kiss him damn it. She is going to reach over the hand break, let the contents of the file spill messily from her lap and make physical contact. He needs to know what he has saved. What he has salvaged. She needs to give touch. To give tangibility. She needs to use more than her words. And she needs to act now while the silence is still a comfort and not stagnant uncertainty.

"Elliot," she breathes out quickly, stalling for time, to conjure the nerve, the guts.

The gratitude is evident in her voice but she knows it isn't enough. Her fingers flex against the file, hesitating for far longer than she should.

His eyes aren't on her profile but she knows he is waiting for her, holding off for a few final, hopeful seconds before she finally feels his patience wear thin.

Then it's too late.

He is moving, his hands falling between them as his fingers grasp the keys lying limp in the console. As he inserts them into the ignition there is a final, brief, painful window of opportunity that he leaves her to speak, to touch, to talk, to move. Anything.

But she can't. She _just_ can't damnnit. And he knows. He already knew. Perhaps he was just bargaining with hope, dancing with chance.

When the ignition finally roars into life she chews on the inside of her cheek, mentally berating herself for allowing this block in the hollow of her chest to continually constrain her in life.

She expects to feel defeated, deflated, debilitated by her involuntary stillness but it's the long, quiet, intimate car ride still ahead of them that gives her hope.

He can't walk until then she reassures herself and neither can she and she's going to make damn sure she conquers this internal battle once and for all, before either of them have the chance.

:::

As he pulls the car to a stop outside her apartment the air is thick.

His muscles ache, his exhaustion has well and truly taken over and their mutual silence has become a permanent, irritable fixture.

He shuts off the ignition and stares straight ahead as the emotion filled dust settles around them.

He hears her click off her seatbelt and the noise causes a wave of unexpected anger to wash over him. He'd spent the entire car ride just waiting for something, _anything _to come out of her mouth but she gave him nothing. Nothing but tense, exasperated breaths and now it would appear that she couldn't get away from him fast enough. It hit him then that she is going to get out any minute and he can almost guarantee they won't exchange a single word in the process.

But as a few more beats of silence pass between them she doesn't leave immediately and it surprises him. He holds his breath, his jaw desperate to click from the tension but he's worried even the action might snap her out of her daze.

The engine is off, her seatbelt has been removed and he turns only slightly to catch her staring endlessly ahead, as if it were 100 years ago and they were on a stakeout waiting for their perp to show face.

She doesn't meet his gaze and he thinks about saying something, her name even. Anything to shatter the stillness, ignite a response from her and start the ball rolling because they both know someone needs to it. And it's that clichéd statement circling his mind the moment his mouth made contact with hers.

_We need to talk._

He watches her eyebrows furrowing to a point, which is a telltale sign that she is debating something. Then she lets out a breath, her eyes finally moving from the road ahead to his and he holds her somewhat apprehensive gaze.

There is distress etched in her eyebrows and suddenly he feels an unexpected apology settle upon his tongue as if he's caused it. He wants to say it, breathe it, repeat it over and over until she believes him but those two words pale in comparison to how he really feels.

He can feel it then, hear it. Her lips about to move, her voice about to speak and he almost feels unready to hear what she's about to say.

"Walk me up," she asks quietly.

_Walk me up. Did she really just say that?_

His heartbeat starts to thud against his ribcage as the words reverberate in his chest. The breath he'd been holding expels heavily in response.

_Walk me up._

The words lodge into his side and all the muscles in his body become noticeably tense. His eyes slip uncomfortably from hers before he can stop himself because he wasn't expecting that. He'd been expecting silence, stonewall, roadblocks - her fleeing for Christ sake and suddenly he was a deer caught in headlights.

He doesn't _walk her up_. He's never has. Olivia Benson doesn't need anyone to walk her up. Least of all him.

His mouth parts and he wants to answer her, he does. But his voice isn't cooperating, no words are coming out and he can tell by the way her eyes are starting to narrow that she seems to be thinking she's received her answer.

He should be thanking her for this olive branch - for going easy on him, for not digging in the knife or tearing him a new one. But instead it would seem he has been rendered completely mute.

She's reaching for the door handle now because she thinks she has his answer - _loud and clear_ and she's out of the car before he knows it.

He knows he has seconds to rectify this so he wastes no time, pulling open the door and quickening his pace, catching up with her before she reaches her stoop.

As he comes up behind her she swings around, a small fire ignited in her eyes.

"You know if it's too hard," she whispers sternly through the night but he is encroaching on her space now because he doesn't want to fight anymore.

He is done.

"Just stop," he breathes out silencing her in her tracks, the warmth of his breath visibly hitting her cheeks and she pauses. "Stop.." he repeats, far more softly than the first time and he notices the flush of red accenting her features, either a result of the cold or their proximity.

"Let me walk you up," he breathes out, finally able to find the words, the mobility, the goddamn social graces.

Her eyes trace his and he can tell there is still remnants of anger but it's slowly defusing, her rigid shoulders softening, the blaze in her eyes dying out before it had the chance to engulf.

She turns slowly before she continues walking up the stairs of her front stoop and his eyes fall over the jeans, her grey hoodie; the clothes she'd thrown on to cover up. He thinks about how tired and bitterly exhausted she must be from the series of events tonight. From their fight at the precinct, to her evening at the bar, to the ordeal, to Marshall's house and now the long, painfully silent drive home. He thinks about the warm shower she needs and the full nights sleep that won't even begin to touch her sides.

As they make their way up the stairs and towards her apartment door his eyes spot the brass pieces that mark her home.

_4B_

As she inserts the key he almost wishes she lived a few more floors up so he could prolong this time with her for as long as he could.

He scratches his cheek then, unsure of when his duty is deemed complete. He assumes it's either now, or a few steps ago when she'd already reached her door. But as she twists the key and walks through the threshold without so much as a look in his direction, he can't help but notice the wide open space she's left for him. As she drops her keys on the entry table his feet somehow manage to move on their own accord and follow her in.

He half expects her to turn around, scowl at him, ask him just what he thinks he is doing but she simply makes her way into the kitchen as if they've done this before. It's old hat. It's a given.

She slips off her runners, one shoe at a time and he watches as she pulls open the fridge door. She takes out a bottle of water, twists off the cap and drains the liquid without pausing for a breath. It hits then just how dehydrated she must be after all the drinks she'd consumed earlier not to mention the emotional aftermath that ensued.

He stands awkwardly at the entrance of her kitchen and watches her lower the bottle from her lips, skimming the corner of her mouth with her thumb. It's then that she notices his presence so she moves forward, grasping another full bottle before she closes the fridge door.

She removes the steps between them until she is close enough to hand him the water. He considers her for a moment before he takes it, careful not to brush her hand in the process.

His mouth opens intent on saying something, anything, but she knows it, so her gaze darts away from his before he has the chance.

"I'm going to take a shower," she tells him quietly moving past, as if waiting in her apartment while she strips down naked and stands under searing hot water is a regular occurrence for him.

"Make yourself at home," she adds and it rocks him. It's the kind of phrase he hears from polite strangers, witness on the job, not his partner. When has she ever suggested he make herself at home?

"Liv," his voice cracks with skepticism, because he wants to call her on this charade, whatever this is, because it isn't them. It's isn't her. But she doesn't even flinch.

"Do or don't Elliot," she responds tiredly, as if it makes no difference to her and he chews on the inside of his cheek, left in an unforeseeable limbo as she disappears through her bedroom door.

::

When she comes back out, the bedroom door creeks and he looks over from his position on her couch. Her hair is wet and spirals into curls that fall much further down her chest, the ends dripping into the white of her tanktop. Her cheeks look flushed from the heat and the apparent change in her domineer is visible, making him wonder just what a warm shower can do for ones state of mind.

She's wearing light blue pajama bottoms and he hesitates because despite seeing her practically naked earlier, he doesn't think he's ever seen her so bare, so stripped, so personal.

He lets his eyes draw lazy circles over her until they move up to her face and she looks a little uncomfortable, in fact more uncomfortable than when she was handcuffed to her bed in her underwear. He feels guilty then for not having the decency to keep his eyes on her face the moment she walked out.

She folds her arms across her chest and he stands up almost apologetically. He's going to tell her he's going to leave now because truth be told he isn't too sure what he's even doing here and why she is intent on giving him this small personal snap shot of private life. He takes a few steps towards her but not enough to close the distance and his mouth opens.

"I don't wanna talk," she cuts him off and his eyes furrow in front of her because that was never his intention. He knows they are past that tonight.

"I just want to sleep," she confirms and he gets the message, she wants him gone and he understands.

She doesn't need to worry. He bows his head and steps towards the door.

"No," she whispers and he turns back, their eyes connecting for one painstaking moment before she says the word that tips him off his axis.

"Stay."

The second bombshell.

He knows the strength it would have taken for her to ask him that, but the relief that floods through him at the request is immeasurable. He wants to stay. Christ of course he wants to stay. He doesn't want to go back to that lone apartment, with these unrequited thoughts.

But he's also painfully unsure, nervous, apprehensive. The same flood of fear that overcame him in the car.

_Walk me up._

"Liv," he whispers and he expects to see deflation once more in her eyes but they remain steady, solid, controlled. Confident.

"We have to be at work in under three hours El," she tells him tiredly. "It's just sleep." And logically it makes sense, he knows this, but the flippant way she says it makes it out like this is a regular occurrence. As if it's standard to crash at each others houses - as if the mere thought wasn't causing a rush of blood to flow down south right now.

But something takes over then, a reaction to her confidence perhaps, to her lack of concern over the idea and he nods. He notices that's all she needs then. His acceptance, his willingness, his confirmation to not walk tonight. Even if no words are exchanged between them, they've both agreed to at least be.

He thinks about the couch, and wonders where she might keep extra bedding. A pillow and blanket is all he'd need.

Just when he is about to ask she turns, moving through the shadows and into the darkness, leaving her door not wide open, but slightly ajar.

_Purposefully ajar. _

And those mere couple of inches is the most she's given him in 12 years.

:::

_Bow chica wow wow_

_Reviews = motivation ;)_

_The end is near people! _


	13. Chapter 13

Happy Birthday to me.

:::::

_It's just sleep._

That's all he keeps reciting in his head because it's the only justifiable reason for moving towards her door right now.

His heart is still thumping wildly because it still feels wrong; forbidden almost. He'd spent a lifetime training himself, creating boundaries – separating his feelings for his partner, segregating them, smothering them. To the point of complete an utter denial. And then denying that denial so deeply that Egyption waters flooded through his veins on a daily basis.

But he's kidding himself if he thinks this is the pinnacle, because the dam wall broke the moment those brown eyes looked up at him and he found something beyond friendship buried within them. Something far more intimate. Something far more confronting. And the moment he dropped his mouth onto hers, the wood chipped, the waters buckled and years of pent up frustration cascaded wildly down the brooks.

His hand comes out then, hesitating only briefly before he pushes gently against the grain of the wood. It opens slowly, granting him more inches she didn't provide, more inches he didn't deserve. The slight creek of the hinge accelerates his heartbeat, only amplifying his uncertainty. As if the noise were a warning, a scream, a cry that if he crossed to the other side, it was his own doing.

And there would be no going back.

Her bedroom is cast in dark shadows, the only light filtering through from the dim lamp in the living room. As he steps into the darkness he doesn't know whether to close the door behind him or leave it ajar but he's misjudged the distance and the door is clicking shut before he has a chance to stop it.

The finality of the noise rattles him.

He blinks against black, enveloped in complete darkness. He has no idea if she's in bed, standing, or in the connecting ensuite. His fingers are practically tingling with unease. He just needs to hear her voice, sense her presence, something.

He wants to call out, clear the congestion in his throat, tell her it's ok he'll sleep on the couch - that it's for the best. But his voice is lodged somewhere in the depths of his chest and he can't comprehend why there mere thought of Olivia being in this room, let alone in her bed, terrifies him more than the horrors he deals with on a daily basis.

He closes his eyes. _Jesus Christ._ He just needs to get a grip. Like she said. _It's just sleep. _Plain and simple. If he just takes off his jacket, jeans and shoes and slips under the covers they won't even have to touch her bed is so big.

But the problem that's circling his mind is that although he's made his way towards the left side of her bed, what if that's her side? It's always been his side. His body had automatically walked to the left but what if she's lying there? Beneath the sheets. Inches from his knees. What if he tries to get into her bed through this darkness and she's right there?

He lets out the breath he's holding, the flow of oxygen resuming once more and it's enough to settle his senses. He toes off his shoes before slipping his jacket down his arms. The leather ripples through the darkness and he swallows, the sound doing little to calm his nerves.

He can feel eyes then. Her fixed gaze on his chest, his body, his crotch and he can't understand how because it's practically jet black in here.

As his fingers move to his belt and he draws the leather slowly through the loops his fingers still. Maybe he should keep his pants on. Maybe when she realizes he's about to climb into her bed in his just briefs and a t-shirt she will flip out. Maybe she hadn't meant for him to even come in here. Perhaps the door left ajar wasn't actually for him. What if she's asleep already and wakes up to find him making himself right at home, his dick flush up against her ass sporting that morning erection he knows he won't be able to conceal. _Fuck._

But just as he goes to fasten his belt again he hears it, the slightest rustle beneath the sheets followed by a breathy exhale.

He thinks about the look in her eyes then, as he hovered above her on the bed. Unmistakable, unbridled desire, to the point of no return. He thinks about her groaning, grinding, panting. He thinks about all the lines they've already crossed in this bed and that in the grand scheme of things s_leeping_ next to her, should be the least of his concerns.

With that thought alone, he pulls the leather open, unbuttons his jeans and unzips his fly. He thinks about the wooden bar, the broken rung, the gap that will exist between them tonight. He thinks about her bronze drenched body, her ample breasts, those dark protruding nipples, her pouty lips mouthing those two earth-shattering words.

_Fuck me. _

_Jesus Christ._

As he drags the denim over his hips the friction knocks his semi and kicks himself for going there. Why did he have to conjure up those images moments before he's about to get into bed with her? _Christ. _He was just trying to make this right, remind himself that they'd already crossed over - _in essence_, to the other side.

He turns ninety degrees, enough so that if she were staring at him through the darkness that she wouldn't see his new, budding erection peaking through his white cotton briefs.

He's done hesitating now, he just needs to get into bed under the covers and cover up so he doesn't feel so blatantly on display. His hand goes for the bed, connecting first with the edge of the mattress until he moves further, feeling, reaching and then he pulls back instantly as if he's been scalded.

Skin.

_Fuck._

He just touched her body. Her arm he thinks. No clothing, no sheet - just skin. She's right there, she's been right _fucking_ there the whole time and Jesus Christ she better be clothed or so help him God.

"Other side," she murmurs throatily through the darkness and _of course_ he thinks. Of course she sleeps on the same side as he does and for a brief moment the thought occurs to him that soon one of them might have to give up their side indefinitely.

She could have made it easier on him he thinks. She could have moved - scooted over, made room for him so he wouldn't have had to touch her. But it's her side he thinks, it's her territory. So he walks then, as quietly as he can manage slowly rounding the bed, doing his best to keep his erection from view.

When he makes it to the other side he reaches out tentatively, almost nervous he's going to find her over this side now but when his hand only makes contact with an empty mattress he lets out a sigh of relief.

His fingers curl under the sheet and he slides it down, careful not to disrupt the other side in the process. The mattress bows accommodating his weight and it's one quick motion as he drags the cotton up his body.

He sinks back into the pillow exhaling heavily, letting the aching muscles of his back soften against the mattress. As his eyes drift closed he desperately tries to ignore the fact that he's in bed with his partner.

All he can hear is a dull ringing in his ear. No sounds from the street, no creeks, or movement. Not even her regulated breathing anymore.

The silence is unsettling. He wants to hear rustling. He wants that breathy exhale back. He wants confirmation that she is finding this just as uncomfortable as he is. He doesn't want her to just fall asleep leaving him in this awkward, uncomfortable limbo. How on earth is he expected to just sleep now with the heavy thud of his heartbeat, not to mention the pressure between his legs is beyond him.

He tries to conjure up some mundane thoughts. Caseloads, paperwork, housework, Munch's crazy conspiracies. Anything. But he knows it's redundant. It will be hours before he has any hope in drifting off to sleep, and it's the stillness that's overtaken the woman beside him that causes the stark realization.

He's on his own until dawn.

:::

He feels movement.

Just as his heart-rate had been succumbing to a moderate level, it's now recharged and into overdrive.

He doesn't know how much time has passed - 30 minutes maybe, but he's spent the better part of it staring at her ceiling, making out the intricate patters through the darkness. As his eyes had traced the circular spheres he'd wondered if this was what she had been doing hours earlier when she had no choice but to look up.

But it's now the movement beside him that's captured his attention and he holds his breath while he takes it in. Shifting. Limbs moving beneath the sheets. Arms, legs, twisting perhaps. All he has to go by is sounds and the small movements rippling through the mattress.

_Good god. _Maybe if he closes his eyes she will stop her torturous movement. If only he had the same control over his ears. That's when he hears it, the dullest of sounds, but unmistakable at that.

A moan.

He thinks. Or at the very least an audible sleep induced noise. It strikes him as odd that even the timbre, even the faintest of noises coming from her larynx and he could pick her in a second.

He wants to bathe in the sound.

He feels the sheet then, starting to slide and it's position under his waist drags slowly down his hip until the material smoothes over his erection. He lets the sheet go, his heart a heavy thud but he doesn't see or feel her. Just the sheet. He assumes she's twisting, moving, kicking her own side of the sheet off perhaps.

His hand moves down, to see if he can grasp it, his fingertips seeking the only thing that will conceal his arousal. When he feels nothing but the under sheet he bites the bullet, sitting up with a strained sigh he reaches down and yanks it back up the bed. He doesn't dare look, his eyes have adjusted to the darkness now and he can make out large objects, but there is no way he's looking over there. So with his eyes focused straight ahead he just moves backward, settling back down onto the mattress and pressing his eyes shut.

Then he feels it.

Her body. Her goddamn body. Up against his. She must have rolled, scooted or moved in the process when he was up searching for the sheet because he feels her arm. The entire bare expanse of it, flush against his. No space in between. She's under the sheet he just pulled up too, which means if she scoots any closer, her thigh will also be making it's self right at home, up against his.

But it's just her arm he tries to reason with himself, not her thigh or her breasts or her mouth against his skin so he just needs to calm the hell down.

He hears the soft breaths now that she's close. The back of her hand is up against his and they're just lying there, flat on their backs, side by side, like fucking gingerbread cut outs. He feels out the space on his other side realizing the area he has to work with his practically non-existent. He is flush up against his side of the bed and yet here she is with almost three quarters of the bed to herself.

He lets out a quiet, pained sigh because he has no room, no movement and he's trapped by the stifling heat of her body. He considers getting up and moving around the bed and to the other side. To _his side. _He considers the possibility of even climbing over her, to get there. Anything but this stifling little pocket of room he's been given.

But then it's more movement he feels. And thank God for that, maybe she's sensed his annoyance, maybe she's woken up and realized she isn't on her side anymore.

Maybe she's –

But it's her hand that cuts him off, arching backwards, sliding over his chest, the back of her palm brushing across his t-shirt until it knocks him lightly against the cheek like she's doing a damn cat stretch. Or backstroke. She's practically on him then, her ass perched against his hip, her back sinking into the side of his torso, loose strands of curls tickling his neck.

His eyes move the small distance across to take her in, because fuck, if she's going to make herself right at home here, he thinks a few glimpses of her is a fair trade off at this point.

But he realizes his mistake immediately because from this angle, all he sees is breasts, the white tank clinging to the full, pert, braless mounds. And not only can he see down her tank from this angle but she's also given him full access to the peaked nipples that are far too erect for her to be sleeping.

_Son of a bitch._

This spurs him into action then, his hand moving up, lightly grasping the wrist lying limp against his cheek. His fingers encircle it gently, as if he's testing the waters, still unsure as to whether she's conscious or not.

When she doesn't react, he closes his eyes because he doesn't want to let go. He doesn't want to remove his hand, so instead he slowly moves it lower, lightly trailing his fingertips down the column of her wrist, over her elbow, down the inside of her upper arm, knowing that if she wasn't asleep this would surely cause her to flinch, buck, tickle.

Something.

But she doesn't move. When his fingers reach the juncture under her arm, he retreats once more, slowly, achingly running his finger tips up the sensitive skin of her arm until they reach her wrist.

He swallows, nothing, just regulated breathing.

He tells himself he's still unsure, but fuck, he knows it's his inability to get his hands off her that's driving this so he moves further down, his thumb swiping her elbow, under arm, and that's when he sees it, her nipples hardening, budding, swollen, painfully erect now through the white tank.

The sight makes his mouth dry and he hesitates when he reaches her torso because he's so close now. So fucking close, he could slide his palm across her breast right now if he wanted to.

But he stops, because she's still breathing methodically, still limp against his body and although he's caused her nipples to pebble, he isn't sure of her state of mind. He wants her to make that noise again, that dull moan, the one that made the blood pool between his legs, because he's so turned on right now and trying not to feel like a creep for getting off on his partners sleeping form.

He just needs a sign, some movement, a sigh, a stretch, anything.

His fingers are still resting on her torso when he smoothes it down the side, he tries to palm it off unintentional when his fingers swipe the side of her breast on his descent before it continues down her waist, until it reaches her hip. He feels it then. Skin. The warm expanse where her pajama pants begin and her tank has been hiked up slightly.

He closes his eyes before he takes it, because fuck, although she's potentially unconscious, she came to him. Not the other way around and he needs this. Just this. Just her stomach. He flattens his palm against the softness of her stomach and it's heat and warmth mirrored in the depth of his own belly.

His fingers maneuver until they're under the tank and they splay against her belly, his thumb stretching further beneath the tank, his pinky swiping dangerously close to her pajama bottoms. Still nothing, nothing but the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his back.

He turns then, his mouth skimming the side of her ear, desperate to say something, to nudge her awake but at the same time he doesn't want to deal with those eyes, questioning, accusing. _It's just sleep._ Fuck what the hell is he doing? But he can't stop, he just needs to feel her beneath the palm of his hand. That's all. His erection is in no way at risk of coming in contact with her body. Not if she stays this way.

With that thought in mind, he moves his hand higher and Jesus Christ he's going further beneath the tank and he's going straight to hell. She'd kill him. She'd rip him a new one if she woke up right now.

But even that possibility doesn't stop him, because his hand right now has a mind of it's own and it's moving, higher, his thumb swiping her ribcage, splaying wide, covering every inch of the expanse beneath his palm. Then his hand slips up the side of her torso and suddenly the tank is pulled up in the process. He closes his eyes, because fuck, he just wanted to touch, not to yank her clothes up her body. But it's done now, on one side at least, and he can feel the small pin pricks of goosebumps that are lining her skin from the cool night air.

He opens his eyes again and her nipples. _Fuck._ Dear lord in heaven, they're practically scraping against the cotton, desperate for air. And he wants to pull the material up further, her arm is already up in the position, it wouldn't take much. Just a firm yank. But he just looks, takes her in, his hand unknowingly getting higher, until his thumb is swiping the swell. The curve. The fucking curve of her breast, and he swallows because it's want that's pulsating through his fingers right now.

_Pure – fucking - want._

And he has no right, but it's no longer within his control. He needs to touch, to feel, so his hand moves higher until he's cupping the underside of her breast. White cotton is bunched against the back of his hand, keeping him there, obstructing him from retreating now, even if he wanted to.

His heart-beat is a solid thud against her back then because he knows he's going to do it. And it's then that his whole hand slides up, over the ridge of her breast, his fingers skimming her firm nipple. He holds his breath as he marvels in the way her bare breast feels so achingly warm against his palm. She fills the expanse, and then some. His thumb moves then and he was sure that would have gotten a response, so that's why he continues, not because his dick is throbbing in his briefs but because he wants her awake. His teeth dig into his lower lip as he lets the rough pad of his thumb swipe purposefully and achingly over her nipple.

She jolts, her ass unmistakably jutting into his hip in response and he freezes as if he's been caught in the act and he's just waiting for her to back up the action with a response. But it doesn't come. He doesn't feel her tense or stir or move – and she's either one hell of an actress or she's still unconscious.

He swipes again, this time firmer, for longer, repetitively because he needs her to say something - anything.

"Ugh," she whispers, her hips rolling backwards, his dick twitching in response.

He exhales heavily into her ear, because it's concrete proof now that she's conscious, awake and she's not pushing him off. Instead she's arching backwards, her ass pushing firmly into his hip.

He circles her nipple then, taking it between his thumb and forefinger and softly rolling, pulling.

"Mmhmm," she moans and her voice isn't as horse as he'd expect it to be if she'd just roused and he wonders now just how long she's been awake.

She feels her hand then, coming off his body and reaching for his and it's the breaks he thinks._ Fuck._ She's finally realized just what the hell he's doing and she's putting a stop to it.

Her fingers encircle his wrist and she's pulling his hand out from under her tank and his heart thumps against her back. He feels like a grade A creep then, Jesus Christ of course she doesn't want his advances right now. After everything they'd been through tonight, after all the shit – he couldn't read that now wasn't the time.

_It's just sleep._

Just as he is about to apologize, he notices she's still holding his wrist, despite it being out from under her tank, only she's not giving it back. Instead she's moving it further, lower, over her abdomen until his throat catches and his eyes close because she's moving it between her legs.

His mouth knocks into her cheek when he realizes what's happening and his fingers hit the material of her pajama pants. As his hands skim between her legs he exhales heavily into her neck and cups her through her pajamas.

_Jesus Liv._

His mind is spinning with the need to process what is happening and he thinks this must be a dream because it's the only logical explanation for it.

He's seen her in jeans, in slacks, in those tight fitting pants that make a grown man want to cry and damn it he's thought about it – he's a warm blooded male. He's pictured her up against a locker, his hand unbuttoning, sliding down her pants, moving between her legs. But this - this intimate invitation she's just granted him with nothing but cotton and satin separating them was unlike anything he could have imagined.

"Olivia," he muses into her ear and his mouth is parted, his lips pressing up against the warm skin of her temple. It's permission, that's what he's asking, the tone of his voice is almost a plea because although he started this, she just upped the ante ten fold.

She knows what he's asking and she's already one step ahead of him, moving his hand back up across her stomach before she starts to slide it back down again, the pressure on his hand enough so it slides easily beneath the seam of her pajamas pants and he bites into his lower lip she slides his hand lower because he knows what's coming. As his fingers brush across satin his breathing heightens and it's far more intimate and incites an ever-growing need to get closer.

He runs his fingers across her softly and she moves her neck back until his lips press against her. The angle is strange, he's on his back and she's partially on his side and it's his left hand. It's an awkward reach, but God himself couldn't pry his hand from it's position.

Her legs are still sidled together, so the access he has is scarce but the warmth between her legs is unmistakable. Slowly, he nudges the thigh she's perched upon between her legs. His upper thigh rising up between hers, causing her legs to part either side. Then it's two fingers that slide down her satin covered core and her head lolls back. She moans, the sound so close to his ear that he closes his eyes just to process it. Olivia, moaning from the direct result of his hands between her legs.

He moves his fingers down, smoothing, rubbing until he starts to feel it, dampness, liquid heat, seeping into satin - her chest is rising and falling at a heightened pace. His thigh rises higher, parting her legs a little wider and he can't help himself, as he slides two fingers back down again, he pushes a little deeper at her entrance.

"N-ugh," she calls out, and he feels it against his thigh, she's rocking herself now, moving her hips in a slow and steady movements so that he has no choice but to rub his fingers in unison. He swallows, and thanks the lord that she isn't completely on top of him right now, or his dick would have a hard time keeping with the motion.

He can tell she's wet and there is no way she was asleep before when there is all this molten lava below. He wants more, he wants beneath the satin and Jesus the way she's moving against his hand, it would appear she's more desperate than him. His lips have made there way into her hair, which he accounts for all the thrashing about she seems to be doing.

He wants her pants off now, but he's stuck in this position with no way of discarding the items without moving her physically off him.

She's still rocking her hips and his thumb is grasping for the seam of her panties, desperate to latch on so he can tug them down. But she's moving too much, her ass rocking into his hip, her whole body slowly encroaching onto his lap, inches away from reaching his cock.

He can't. He can't deal with her ass near his erection right now. He's barely keeping up with her movements. He isn't at an angle where he can grasp the top of her panties so he moves lower. Desperately seeking until finally he seizes a corner, the seam nestled at her thigh and he slips under.

His fingers are coated with juices immediately and he groans into her neck because she's fucking dripping. The tips of his fingers brush against the dampness, moving down her core.

"Fu-ugh," she whimpers and she can tell she's digging her teeth into her lip. He slides his fingers beneath the folds, running them up and down, until his thumb locates her clit. He rubs the rough pad of his thumb across the swollen bundle of nerves and she groans openly, her head coming back and colliding with his forehead.

He snaps then, he's done with this awkward angle, he's done with the restriction of her clothing. He pulls his hand from her underwear and moves his body into hers until she falls heavily onto her stomach. She slides up onto her elbows in an effort to rise up but he's already mounted her from behind. His chest is pressing against her back but he's careful to keep his erection away from her ass.

He moves down then, grasping the waistband of her pajama pants and underwear and drags them down her body. As the material slides past her knees she falls into the mattress and he wastes no time scooping the tank up the sides of her torso, pulling the material up, moving her hands above her head as he slips the material off. He barely has the tank off before he drops his weight completely onto her and she groans as his cotton covered erection pushes against her bare ass.

His mouth falls to the ridge of her shoulder coated with cascading vanilla curls, that intoxicating fresh scent that screams Olivia whenever she so much as passes by him. He swallows at the thought that within seconds he had her bare-naked beneath him.

His hand grasps her hip and his fingers bite into her and he moans into her neck because he needs to touch more, feel more, all he's had is surfaced based, he needs to be deeper.

His erection is swelling by the minute and he can hear her heated, restricted breaths coming out in bursts and that's when he loses the battle within. His thigh slides between her legs, parting them from behind, and then his hand moves slowly between her legs. He closes his eyes as his fingers touch the liquid heat.

She muffles a cry as they slide down her core from behind until they reach her clit. He then repeats the action once more, and she's back to rubbing herself against his hand, against his fingers, his knuckles practically scraping against mattress.

"Fu-" she moans, cutting herself off, her fingers curling around the pillow beneath her and his heart is thumping wildly at the intensity between them, that is far too palpable to take slowly, traditionally.

Her ass is inches from his cock and all her moving, grinding, rocking is making him weaken. Then it's her hand she feels reaching backwards, latching onto the seam of his briefs and yanking them downward, the elastic teasing his cock as he groans into her ear. Christ she is tugging him against her now, his cock knocking against her ass and he grabs her wrist and they struggle for seizure of his briefs.

Elliot wins, yanking her hand off him and she's pissed, he can feel it, but he is grasping her hips and turning her over before she knows it. She rises up onto her elbows but he's already lifting a thigh, hooking it over his shoulder dragging her down the bed, before his face sinks down between her legs.

His mouth meets her centre she groans at the unexpected contact. He moves his wide shoulders between her legs before his tongue drags across her moist centre. She moans openly arching beneath him but he doesn't give her time to adjust, his tongue is already flicking over her clit once – twice – causing her heavy breaths to catapult into strained pants. Her fingers curl around the bed sheet as he continues his firm, torturous, torment against the swollen bundle of nerves and when his mouth closes over her centre, her heels dig into his back and she's practically panting.

"Ugh." Her hands release the sheet and drive through his hair. His five o'clock shadow is scraping her inner thighs, teasing them - marking them, making his cock throb in response. His hand slips between them and he runs his thumb across her centre before he meets with her clit.

She groans, as he starts to thumb her, twisting beneath him, practically fighting his hands. As two fingers trail her opening, testing the waters, she clamps down on her lower lip and he groans in anticipation because he is desperate feel the heat, the depth, the vice. As he slips them into the juices her hands fall off his head as she sinks back into the mattress.

She moans, arching as he starts to slip inside her, the vice around his fingers makes his chest constrict and his cock throb with a need to mirror the path. He pushes further inside her before he leans forward, his tongue smothering her clit and her feet knock him firmly as she groans with want.

"Elliot - fuckk…" her words trail off in a whisper and as he looks up in the darkness the sight of her grasping her breasts causes an unexpected pang to rock his lower belly. He had all intentions of having her come against his mouth, around his fingers but the tables have turned and he is crawling up her body now, his hands grasping her wrists, tugging them from her breasts and planting them shoulder height as he growls with desire. He pushes his hips between her legs, his covered erection hitting her square between the legs and they groan in unison.

He feels her heat, the moisture seeping into his underwear. He has her hands captive but it doesn't stop her wrapping her legs around his hips and grinding herself against his erection.

"Uggh-" he rasps against her cheek.

With her wrists still under wraps he moves his mouth down, capturing a nipple between his lips. He dampens the nub before he flicks his tongue and she bucks beneath him, her toes curling into his calf muscle in response. As he continues to flick his tongue across her nipple she groans, tugging on her wrists with urgency, twisting against his unrelenting mouth.

As a hand escapes his capture it's between their bodies before he knows it and she is beneath his briefs. As her fingers encircle his cock, he exhales sharply as they slide down his length. He hisses into her neck, knowing that if she so much as repeats that action he will lose it.

Her hips move into him then, pushing him firmly until he falls onto his side before she has him flat on his back. She slides a knee across his hip and suddenly she's straddling him. Her damp centre sitting squarely on his hardness as her palms press into his pecks.

"Ugh," he groans from her weight as she rocks against his hips, he grasps his briefs and yanks them downward because he needs to feel her, unhindered, raw, naked, dripping. He needs to be inside. Enough of this torturous foreplay. She lets him slide his underwear down until they bunch at his upper thighs. He grasps her hips then, attempting to guide her onto his cock but she's too focused on removing his underwear completely.

She slips out of his hold entirely then dragging his briefs down his legs and off his feet. Once they're removed, he tries to grasp a limb, a wrist, anything and drag her back up his body but she has seized him in her hands, grasping the base, her hands sliding up the length of him once, twice, before he feels Olivia's damp mouth close around him in the darkness.

_Christ Almighty._

He groans, loudly. His chest void of any oxygen as she sinks down his cock. Her lips pressing firmly down the length of him. He fills her throat. She takes him wholeheartedly and he practically loses consciousness._ Stop._ He wants to scream but it's ecstasy. Her mouth, her lips, her hands, her tempo, her pace, her tongue darting out teasing the tip before she slides back down again. Her hands moving in rhythm with her mouth, rubbing, the slickness making his throat constrict. God, he hadn't expected this. Olivia's mouth. Those lips. That tongue. Fuck. If he thought he was close before he's now officially hit the danger zone. As her lips slip down his length and back up she pauses to tongue his tip relentlessly.

He bucks against her mouth, reaching out and grasping her wrist then because he's not waiting for this to end in her mouth. He yanks her but she doesn't budge. He tries again, this time more firmly, his knee pressing into her hip until he slips out of her mouth.

He drags her up his body and flips her onto her back. She fights it momentarily, rising up to her elbows but the weight of his body wins out. He grasps a thigh, hooking it over his right shoulder and she bends beneath his weight but then it's resistance he feels as the palm of her foot slaps him hard in the collarbone until she pushes him firmly until he's falling backwards.

The bed disappears underneath him then and he lands with a thud on the carpet.

The room stills.

"Shit," he hears her whisper breathlessly from the bed above.

He takes a few moments to process just what happened before his lips can't help but curl upward. He's up then, scrambling into a kneeling position and crawling back onto the bed until he locates an ankle and he pulls her down the bed. She yelps in surprise but he can tell she's smiling as he climbs up the length of her body. Her hands come out, smoothing apologetically over his biceps.

"I'm sorr-" but he smothers her apology with his mouth because he realized that damn it, he hasn't even kissed her yet. He'd just ripped her from her sleep and gone at her like a bull at a gate. She was right to stop him in his tracks, to take it down a notch. To remind him that this warm-blooded women beneath him was in fact his partner of 12 years and not some kind of sex toy.

He tugs on her lips, tasting the familiarity before he drags his mouth off hers and lets a ragged breath expel against her forehead.

"Christ Olivia," he begins and he doesn't even know where he's going with it but he needs to say something. He finds a hand through the darkness and intertwines their fingers into a fist because damn it, he needs something to hold onto when he says it.

"You've gotta know Liv, tell me you know," he whispers, each word tripping over the next, his throat catching part way as the stubble on his cheek grates across hers. He feels her grip tighten around his fingers and her free hand skims the side of his torso. He breathes out as her hand moves into the back of his hair, her fingers splaying through the cropped fibers before she brings his mouth back down to hers.

She kisses him deeply at first before she takes a breath and softens the kiss, letting her tongue trail sensually between his lips and he moans achingly before he feels her legs slip around his hips, moving her legs apart so she can wrap them around his hips. She raises her hips until his cock presses intimately at her entrance. He exhales into her mouth then, groaning with want but overcome with the need for assurance first.

"Tell me," he rasps against her mouth. Because he can't do this. He can't move forward until she says it.

"I know El," she breathes out, squeezing his hand confidently. "I've known for a while," she whispers before grasping his lips in a lingering kiss.

His stomach spirals at her words. Recognition. Acceptance. Acknowledgement. And it's all he needs. He shifts his hips, parting her legs, settling himself against her centre and moving his hand downward to line himself up with her.

He feels her grip around his other hand tighten in anticipation and it's seconds before he's slipping beneath her folds, slowly at first before his hips intimately connect with her inner thighs.

He expels a groan of satisfaction into her neck and he waits, allowing time for the tightness of her walls to adjust. She's silent beneath him as his lips run over the arch of her eyebrow and his thumb strokes the ridge of her palm.

"You ok?" he whispers through the darkness because all he can feel is the thud of his own heartbeat and the vice that's intently gripping his cock.

She squeezes his hand in response before a breath escapes her but he's caught the emotion thick within her inhale as she gasps for air.

_Christ she's not ok. _

He drops his face down to her cheek and that's when he feels it. Moisture. Salty residue against his lips, trailing down her cheek.

"Liv," he panics, raising up on his elbows in an effort to pull out. "I'm hurting you."

"You're not." Her thighs clamp firmly around his hips preventing him from moving and she sniffs back the emotion, letting her free hand slide down his chest causing goosebumps to break out across his flesh.

"I promise," she reiterates, squeezing their intertwined hands for assurance and the comfort in her words is all he needs.

He lowers his full weight back onto her, letting out the breath he was holding as her fingers lazily trail down the side of his torso. Then it's moments before he feels her heels dig into his calf muscles causing her inner walls to contract around him. A groan rips from this throat and he's unable to control his hips from rolling forward, pressing her intimately into the mattress.

_Fuck. _

His mouth falls clumsily against the column of her neck and his heart thuds against her chest. His teeth dig in, nicking her, causing her fingernails to sink into his biceps in response. He knows he needs to be gentle with her but even while he's biding time for her body to accommodate he struggles to retain a sense of decorum.

"I need.." he grumbles against her neck, his words trailing off as his mouth continues to nip and suck at her neck. His free hand slides across her cheek then, holding her mouth steady as he plunges his tongue between her lips. He's rough on her mouth because he can't be down south and it's not long before she drags her lips away from his.

"Do it," she whispers breathless against his mouth, refusing to let him seize her lips again.

He doesn't wait then. Her word is enough. He drags himself half way out before plunging back in.

"Uh," she squeezes his hand in response as their hips collide and he watches carefully as her eyebrows etch together as she takes him. He knows there's a slight amount of discomfort so he waits, counts the beats, giving her time to adjust before driving forward once more.

She groans, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she arches against the friction.

"I'm hurting you," he tells her through gritted teeth, trying to reconcile the flood of pleasure he's experiencing against the discomfort she'd be feeling as a result.

He watches her release her lower lip and trail her free hand over her face until she finds his mouth through the darkness. He swallows as she runs her thumb across his swollen lower lip before she says it.

"I want you to _fuck me_ Elliot." Her voice is practically gravel and the pang hits in his lower belly. It had just been a whisper but the timbre, the words, her intent stir all kinds of intensity through his lower half.

Olivia Benson. His no nonsense, straight-laced, by the book partner has just asked him in no uncertain terms to _fuck_ her. It hadn't been the first time and it sure as hell won't be the last.

Just as her thumb dips between his lips and teases the tip of his tongue, he groans, snatching her wrist and planting her hand shoulder height on the bed. He still has her other hand in a fist so it's one movement as his hips slam into her.

"Ugh," she calls out and he doesn't give her time to recover before he's moving forward again, inducing another uninhibited, guttural moan from her throat.

He continues thrusting between her folds, the heat of her vice causing the pressure between his legs to steadily build. It's no longer resistance he feels it's complete an utter submission beneath him and his mouth runs dry at the intense power she's given him.

He rises up just slightly, a slither of cool air invading the space between their bodies causing her nipples to pebble as they achingly scrape across his chest with each thrust.

He thinks about the white stain from this evening, her hands bound and cuffed to the wooden bar as he hovered over her. The look in her eyes and the heat between her legs. He thinks about their position now, not too dissimilar. He thinks about their fight from earlier. _Your viewpoint will always be partial Olivia. _He thinks about her only being out tonight because of him. Because of his asshole comment. He thinks about how easily this could have been someone else and how he's spent 12 years pushing her into the arms of other men. He swallows at the chances he's blown and the pain caused but declares that it all ends here.

Tonight.

Indefinitely.

As his hips drive firmly forward once more he releases her wrist and drags his hand down towards her breast grasping her, squeezing firmly before his thumb flicks across her nipple.

"Next time I.." his muffled words rasp against her cheek, "..piss you off," he tells her slowly thumbing her nipple until she bucks in response, her hips knocking into him as she twists under his hold.

"You take it out on _me_," he hisses into her neck before tugging her nipple a little too firmly.

"Ugh," she calls out, grasping his hand with her free wrist attempting to yank it off her but he's shifted his attention to her mouth smothering it with his as he holds her in a forceful, lingering kiss. She groans into his mouth, letting him slide his tongue deep within her depths, sinking into it before she finally manages to tear her mouth away from his.

"Maybe you should quit.. pissing me off," she rasps between breaths in the small cocoon of space he's left between them, the slightest hint of a smile in her words.

His lips curl upward. _Touche Benson._

His teeth find the softness of her neck and clamp firmly against her skin and her fingernails dig immediately into his hip in warning. He isn't going to hurt her but the way her body has just tensed beneath him he can tell she's just braced herself for the possibility. He surprises her by releasing his teeth and instead trailing his tongue over the irritated patch.

His hand is back on her nipple but he's much softer this time, far more delicate in his manipulation and he starts to languidly rock his lower-half into her again, matching the sensual pressure he's applying with his thumb.

"Ugh," she moans in response and he feels her legs spread a little wider as his hips continue to rock forward. There is still an intense pressure around his cock but she's relaxing into it now, rocking her own hips in response, starting to slowly meet him half way and in a matter of seconds they've gone from '_fuck me now_' to lazy Sunday afternoon sex.

She feels incredible. He doesn't want this to end. _Ever. _

He is going to take his time with it. Draw this out until sunrise.

Deny her from coming for as long as poss-

"Harder El," she demands, ripping him from his thoughts and of course he thinks. Of course she's demanding the exact opposite that he's willing to give her.

And it hits him in that moment, just how chaotic, unbridled and unpredictable their relationship is going to be from this point onward. Long nights. Irritated desk stares. Case discrepancies. Differences in opinion. Fights over toilet seats. Toothpaste caps. Sides of the bed. Paperwork. Anniversaries. Holidays. Housework.

_He can't wait._

"No." He smiles against her neck when he says it and he knows he's asking for it when purposefully slows down the pace between her legs.

"Fuck y-"

"-you?" He finishes for her because in some ways she can be very predictable. "I am '_fucking you'_ Liv," he mumbles against her lips, gloating openly as he rocks his cock between her legs at a torturously slow rate.

"Asshole," she moans against his mouth, still indulging in the limited amount of pleasure his lower half allows her. She kisses him back, dipping her tongue between his lips before he feels her body clench purposefully around him.

He groans into her mouth, the effects of her walls clamping around his cock almost too much to bear. _Fuck. He's done he thinks. She wins._ His free hand sinks into the ridge of her hip and he grips her firmly as he pulls himself partially out before slamming back into her.

"Agh," she calls out in surprise, her breasts bobbing from the motion and he closes his eyes as he repeats the action. It suddenly hits him that he needs this release just as urgently as she does and he's done playing around.

He continues to thrust forward harder and more urgent, each motion building towards their imminent release. Their moans are now blisfully in sync and all he can feel is her slickness continually coating his penis as he drives between her folds.

As her grip on their intertwined fingers tightens he knows she's getting close and when her heels dig into his ass again he grasps her breast firmly in an effort to brace himself. The slap of skin-on-skin echos through the room.

She is grinding into his thrusts now and he's got seconds before he's going to come. The waves of pleasure steadily build towards his climax until his pelvis finally and achingly bucks forward. It's then that he feels her own orgasm contract around him as he fails to silence the groan as he spills inside her.

His breath is ragged and he swallows the lump in his throat and it's not until she slowly eases up on her grip that he allows himself to drop completely on top her.

The perspiration is ripe between their bodies. There is an intense heat flooding through his veins as he closes his eyes against her neck. He knows he should move off her because his weight alone would be stifling her ability to breathe let alone move right now but he just can't. Not yet. He is completely and utterly spent and he isn't going to move until it's imperative. Not until she demands he does and even then he'll probably fight it.

So until then he just exists. On top his partner. As the contents of his long overdue need for her pools between her legs. He listens to the way their intermingled breaths fight each other for air and it's a fitting reminder of the conflicting, chaotic relationship that's about to ensue.

He knows there will be difficult decisions and honest conversations to be had but until then he lets the sated, peaceful smile slip sleepily across his face as his body sinks further into the woman he loves.

**End.**

:::

Thank you everyone for joining me on this ridiculous ride.

**Flees to Mexico**

:::::

P.S Plot Hole Answers: Olivia did not sleep with Marshall (he was just stirring the pot). Elliot did not kill Marshall (they just talked it out). I died 19,000 times while writing this.


End file.
